Reflections
by inkstainedfingers97
Summary: When had her smile become important to him? When had her opinion of him become something that mattered?
1. 1x01: Pilot

Title: Reflections

Spoilers: 1x01, Pilot

Rating: K

Disclaimers: If I could make money doing this, my life would be very different right now.

A/N: Trying something a little different here. I'm convinced there was an attraction between J/L from day one, and wanted to explore that a bit here. Am considering a series of one shots from Jane's POV to focus on the glimpses of those feelings we got to see in the early episodes. Let's call them drabbles, though I seriously doubt I will ever write anything that hits the one hundred word count limit. Many of you are probably already aware that brevity isn't exactly my strong suit. ;) Still plugging away at Beyond Measure, but having something shorter to focus on is a nice break from that particular example of my inability to control the word count. Hope you like it!

xxx

He decided closed case donuts were in order. He anticipated that the team might be a tad irritated with him after the stunt he pulled with Wagner, and his life would be more convenient if they weren't angry with him. He stopped at a shop he knew and picked up a baker's dozen as a gesture of good will.

He tracked on her the minute he entered the room. She noticed him right away, but pointedly ignored him, deliberately keeping her nose buried in paperwork. He placed his offering on the table and assessed the damage. Her determination to ignore him was a bad sign, but he'd seen worse. No line of tension ran across her shoulders. No line creased her forehead between her eyebrows. Forgiveness was within reach.

He joked with the team, teased them a bit. She looked up once at one of his more outrageous statements, incredulous. Still, she didn't comment. She schooled her features into a neutral expression and put her eyes back on her file. She'd learned by now that the most effective way of influencing his behavior was to deny her attention to him.

He frowned a little to himself. That wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to influence him, have power over him. She was an asset to his mission, nothing more.

Oh, he liked her, certainly. She was a sharp agent. A good person. When necessity forced him to emerge from his solitude, he found her company more tolerable than anyone else's. He liked teasing her, and he appreciated her efforts to take care of him, however misguided they might be. He'd enjoyed her fussing over him about his insomnia probably more than he ought. And despite his preoccupation with the Red John pretender, he had to admit that he wasn't entirely unaffected by the magnetic pull of her green eyes when she expressed her concern for him and urged him to get some sleep.

He shook off the thought and returned to his jokes, determined to drive such disturbing concepts from his mind.

The team didn't appear to appreciate his humor. However, they did eat the donuts. Cho expressed his displeasure by throwing a ball of paper at him.

He caught the wad of paper Cho chucked at his head and palmed it, casting a glance over his shoulder. She kept her eyes on her file, but he could feel her awareness of him despite her determination not to show it.

This wouldn't do. His life really would be inconvenient if she stayed mad at him forever, he reasoned. Besides, she'd been mad at him for days, and he missed her smile. Luckily, he had an idea about how to get it back.

He busied himself with rapidly folding the paper Cho had thrown at him, taking care to conceal his movements as he smoothed out the creases and refolded with practiced fingers.

He crossed the room to her, confident that his trick would win the coveted smile.

He faltered. A twinge of unease pulled at his gut. When had her smile become important to him? When had her opinion of him become something that mattered?

She looked up at him when he reached the desk, those green eyes even more mesmerizing at this proximity. "Don't even start. I'm still angry."

He schooled his expression into something resembling a cross between pathetic puppy and sheepish schoolboy. Few women were immune to this expression, he knew from long experience. "I'm sorry."

Lisbon wasn't taken in. "No, you're not."

He was a little pleased that she didn't believe him. His life undoubtedly would be more convenient if she was easier to manipulate, but it would also be devastatingly boring. He needed someone to challenge him, and she fit the bill. Their verbal sparring matches were one of the few things in the post-Red John world that made life bearable. Once her forgiveness was secured, he was confident they'd be back to their usual amicable bickering in no time. But first, he needed her to engage. Wordlessly, he placed his peace offering on the desk before her.

Her tone was exasperated and sarcastic. "A frog? Well, this makes everything better, doesn't it?"

He caught the curve of her smile out of the corner of his eye as he walked away. He ducked his head, pleased that she was amused by his token. Even if it was a little distressing to realize how important that smile was to him. That her smile mattered.

He couldn't afford to have someone matter to him, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. He needed to stay focused. That was why, the voice told him, he absolutely should not look back at her. Especially not when he heard her startled intake of breath and half laugh when the paper frog jumped. If he let her, she could become a downright dangerous distraction.

He ignored the voice.

He sneaked a look back over his shoulder and watched her smile.


	2. 1x02: Red Hair and Silver Tape

He hurried back to the sheriff's office, eager to show Lisbon what he'd found.

He paused when he saw her smiling into the phone. Happy. He hesitated, distracted. Suddenly, knowing what had made her smile like that was more important than rubber gloves and plastic sheeting. He asked her what she'd learned.

Ah. The guys from the lab had confirmed her theory about Hector Ramirez. Apparently, few things made Teresa Lisbon happier than forensic evidence. Satisfaction radiated from her. Belatedly, he realized that at least part of her satisfied smile was because she was pleased to have proven him wrong, for once. Only he _wasn't_ wrong. He couldn't have her thinking that, could he?

Later, after they'd spoken to Hector, she wasn't so happy. _Go ahead. Say it._

He obliged her. "I think he's telling the truth."

She wasted no time in telling him she disagreed. "I'm charging him." But she was deflated. Part of her already knew Ramirez wasn't the guy. And maybe she was a little irritated to know that Jane had probably been right all along. Well, really. She should never have doubted him in the first place.

He pulled out his phone, excited to put his play back in motion, now that he had her attention again.

As he made the call, he observed dispassionately that the third button of her shirt was unbuttoned. Interesting. Was this intentional, or mere oversight? His eyes wandered to the freckles disappearing into the valley between her breasts, idly noting the feminine curves beneath her trademark tailored blouse. Had he ever been treated to this particular view down Lisbon's shirt before? He had to admit… it was a pretty nice view. He was halfway into cataloguing it in his memory palace before he recalled himself. He gave himself a mental shake and returned his attention to the phone call.

He studied her face as he made the call, the wariness in her eyes somewhat at odds with the curve of her soft mouth, the dimple on one side hidden, but the faint trace of it just barely visible, practically begging to be teased out of hiding. He thought about her taking Ramirez down, all that strength hidden behind the softness.

Looking back at him, her expression turned from wary to indulgent. Now she was just humoring him.

The devil tapped his shoulder. He smiled inwardly and decided to indulge himself. "Could you put us on the terrace? It's more romantic." His eyes cut over to her face as he made the request, gauging her reaction.

Her expression was priceless. Equal measures appalled and intrigued. As she processed his words further, she looked mostly horrified, but her eyes definitely flicked to his mouth. Once, twice. Ohh, very interesting, Agent Lisbon. He smothered a grin, having great difficulty containing his delight. She kept her face tolerably smooth, but he could see the flicker of panic behind her eyes. He couldn't seriously be doing what she thought he was doing. Could he?

She quirked her head to the side in silent inquiry.

He let her off the hook, barely able to contain his amusement. "Don't fret. I wouldn't seduce you over a meal." Really, didn't she know he'd be far more imaginative than that?

She was quick to deny it. "I didn't think you were trying to seduce me."

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. "Come on. How could that thought not have entered your head?" He had put it there himself, after all.

This was too much fun. He couldn't resist winding her up just a little bit more. He smirked at her. "Your denial that it did intrigues me."

He brushed past her, chuckling to himself.

He expected her to do one of two things: either lecture him on professionalism or blush and ignore him.

Her tart response, laden with sarcasm, surprised him. "Bite me."

He bit back the obvious retort. _You wish._

That was a line he probably shouldn't cross. For one thing, that really would be unforgivably unimaginative. For another, he had seen her tackle a man with a machete only the day before. She was certainly formidable, when she wanted to be. If he pushed her too far, she could probably reduce him to toothpick sized pieces in a few swift moves.

He held the door for her. "Come along, my dear. I have the hotel room all set up and ready for you." Well, he was always going to _nudge_ the line.

She gave him a withering glare as she passed him, but she didn't object when he fell into step beside her. Said nothing when he placed his hand at the small of her back. He thought about the third button again as they stepped outside. Oh, well. It was rather warm out here.

Xxx

Later, when the case was solved and he was comfortably back on his couch at the CBI, his thoughts returned to Lisbon.

His big reveal hadn't exactly gone as planned, after all.

It had started promisingly enough. Lisbon, sitting next to him on the couch, alert and wary. Lisbon, impatiently yanking the remote from his hand and jabbing the mute button. Lisbon, next to him again, leaning back and putting her feet up.

It was when she cut him off and advised him she needed to go save the rest of the team from being written up that things had started to go pear-shaped, he reflected.

He had to admit that despite his confidence in his theory, he hadn't been prepared to face the chef and his wife when they'd actually showed up. With a bound and gagged young woman between them, no less. Suddenly his plans weren't so amusing. He was in a room with two psychopaths, with no idea how to save himself, let alone the girl they'd drugged and kidnapped.

He wondered if he'd ever find out what had made Lisbon turn back. Had she seen the van in the parking lot? Or had she simply followed her instincts? Perhaps she had gotten to the point where she just assumed that anywhere Patrick Jane went, trouble followed. In which case it was only sensible of her to double check on him, even after professing her indifference to his theory. In any case, he was grateful she'd come back to save him.

He thought of her breaking the door down, entering the room with guns blazing. The split second where she'd allowed the horror of having to shoot two people show on her face before she'd quickly turned her attention to the girl. Unbound her. Reassured her in a low, quiet voice that everything was going to be all right.

Softness and strength.

She'd been upset at the funeral. Quiet.

It was his fault. He was painfully aware of that fact. He could have come up with a different plan, but no. He'd had to show her how clever he was. He was a show off, and now two people were dead who otherwise might not have been.

Granted, they were psychopathic murderers, but the point still stood.

 _Thunk_.

The couch jerked a little and he opened his eyes to see Teresa Lisbon looking down at him with a smirk. He stared up at her, incredulous. She'd kicked his couch.

"Get up," she ordered.

He sat up. "You kicked my couch," he stated, indignant.

"Yes."

" _Why_?" he asked plaintively. The poor couch had never done anything to her.

She rolled her eyes. "To get your lazy ass up off of it, that's why. Come on, quit your brooding. We have work to do."

"What work?" he asked grumpily. He wasn't _brooding_. He was… reflecting. "We don't have a new case yet."

"I'm reviewing cold cases."

Beat. "Yeah, have fun with that," he said dismissively.

He made to swing his legs back up on to the couch again so he could lie down again, but she caught his arm and hauled him up off the couch before he could get settled. "Not so fast, my friend." He winced and rubbed his arm surreptitiously when she let him go. She really was freakishly strong, that woman.

"Lisbon," he whined. "I fail to see why your review of cold cases needs to interfere with my afternoon nap."

"Our review," she corrected him. "You're going to help me."

"That sounds thoroughly tedious," he said. "No, thank you."

"Nonsense, you'll love it. You'll get to show up decades of detectives before you when you find the clues everyone but the great Patrick Jane has somehow managed to overlook." She was flattering and mocking him at the same time. She was really the only person he'd ever met who could do that.

He had to admit, he wasn't entirely immune to this particular strategy of manipulation. Especially since it involved her dimple coming out to play. Of course, it wouldn't do to let her know that.

"Nice try, but I'm not helping you with this tedious drudgery, Lisbon. You might as well save your breath and let me resume my nap in peace."

"Oh, yes you are. You know why?"

He decided to humor her. "Why?"

Her eyes sparkled with teasing humor. "I know a secret about you."

He paused, intrigued. "You do?"

"That's right."

"What secret would that be?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, that adorable dimple playing at the side of her mouth. "I know that you, Patrick Jane, can be bought."

"Bought?" he echoed.

She shot him a slow, satisfied smile. "I've known you long enough by now to know that your cooperation can be secured for all manner of sins with a spicy pork and pepper jack sandwich from Al's sub shop."

He played along. "Really, Lisbon? You think I'm willing to sell myself for so low a price?"

She smirked. "I think if I tell you I already have a sandwich with your name on it, I have a pretty good chance of solving three cold cases by the end of the day."

He _was_ feeling a bit peckish, now that he thought of it. He decided to stop playing hard to get. "Throw in an iced tea and one of Mrs. Al's chocolate chip cookies and you've got yourself a deal."

She grinned. "Come on, the food's in my office."

She strode away from him, her gait confident and purposeful. He let his gaze linger on the sway of her hips for a moment. She really was a pleasure to watch. His brain suddenly and inexplicably returned to that third button. Today, apparently, was a two button kind of day. Shame. He found himself wondering what she would do if he suddenly took leave of his senses and popped that third button himself. And maybe did a few other things while he was at it.

He indulged the thought for maybe five seconds. Just for a few seconds, he told himself, he would allow himself to entertain the question. What would it be like to seduce Teresa Lisbon?

"Jane!" she hollered from her office. "Hurry up! These cases aren't going to solve themselves!"

Damn hard work, for one thing, he acknowledged to himself ruefully. If he went straight for that button, she'd be liable to break his fingers.

Still, he reflected. It would be an awfully lot of fun.

He went into her office and sat down at the table opposite her, sneaking another glance down her shirt as he passed by.

Oh, yes. He was certain the payoff would be one hundred percent worth the effort for anyone who devoted themselves properly to the task of seducing her.

She pushed a sandwich towards him without looking up, already engrossed in a file. She'd left another file open for him, already marked with her notes. Her own half-eaten sandwich sat on the table next to her, clearly forgotten in her absorption with the details of the case. She had a tendency to do that. Get so absorbed in what she was doing that she forgot everything else. She was probably like that as a lover, too. All that green-eyed intensity completely and thoroughly focused on the person she was with.

It was an intoxicating prospect.

He studied her intently. Yes, a quick popping of buttons was definitely out. Seducing Lisbon would require a more subtle laying of groundwork. No overt gestures such as flowers or grand declarations. Those would only make her suspicious. No, probably the best way to go would be a series of small, unexpected gestures. An origami flower, a fresh cup of coffee waiting for her on her desk. Little notes hidden in her pocket so she would find them when she least expected. Small touches, here and there, to let her know he was aware of her, that he was watching out for her. Looks that lingered just a little too long. A long, slow burn.

Then, when she was going crazy wondering if it all meant something or if it was just in her head, he'd find some excuse to step close and steal a kiss. A soft kiss, to learn and explore.

He was pretty sure once that critical step was taken, everything else would fall into place of its own accord.

Alternatively, he reflected, he could just piss her off. Get her so worked up she was ready to explode, then cut her off mid-tirade with a kiss. The kind of kiss that drove out coherent thought. Pin her against the wall and kiss her again when she opened her mouth to protest. Let her take control when she finally gave in and bit his lip in retaliation. And be prepared for bruises when she shoved him against the wall herself and decided to take her frustration out on him through physical means rather than the usual verbal dressing down. His heart rate escalated at the thought.

He licked his lips and reminded himself of his biofeedback tricks.

All things considered, he decided he preferred the romantic approach, in this particular case. It would be fun to charm Lisbon, if he had the inclination. He watched her worry that full bottom lip with her teeth as she bit her lip in concentration. Considered that softness and strength, all bundled up in one tiny, fierce package. Seducing her would be a distraction, but it would certainly be a pleasant one.

He'd never do it, of course. He only had room for one thing in his life, and that was Red John. Besides, he was broken, unfit. He didn't deserve to be in anyone's life in that way, let alone hers.

No matter how attractive the prospect of all that porcelain skin with those delectable freckles might be.

She looked up and sent him an inquisitive look. "Everything all right?" she asked, those green eyes fixed on him with curiosity and concern.

"Of course," he said smoothly, picking up his sandwich and pulling the file she'd left open for him a little closer to himself. If he wasn't careful, his theorizing would become a moot point. She'd kill him if she knew what he was thinking.

That he'd been sitting over here crafting a seduction plan with all the attention to detail that he normally devoted to his most complicated schemes. But really, was it his fault the details in this case were so damn appealing? He peered over the top of his file and watched her hair fall forward as she bent closer to her own file. Watched the light shine off the smooth, dark strands. He bet her hair was really soft.

He forced his eyes back to his file. Five seconds, he reminded himself. That was all he could permit himself. Time was up.

He glanced over at her, observing the graceful column of her neck, the casual flick of the slender wrist as she turned the page. Thought again about that soft, full mouth.

Okay, so he may have considered the idea for a _tiny_ bit longer than five seconds.


	3. 1x03: Red Tide

A/N: A couple of people have asked if I'm planning to continue the series - right now, my goal is to do one chapter for each episode of season 1. After that... we'll see. Trying to commit to more than that at the moment feels a bit daunting, especially as I continue to plug away at Beyond Measure (and another AU that won't leave me alone). For this series, my intention is to keep each tag consistent with canon (although I will be adding a few missing moments here and there), so there won't be any original story development on this one.

xxx

There was really no other word for it. Kurtik, Jane thought, was a grade-A slimeball. If Jane were still in the business, so to speak, he would have enjoyed fleecing the man for all he was worth. He thought he was so smart, with his expensive clothes and fancy lawyer. Thought he was untouchable. He thought he could take advantage of that girl and get away with it.

Kurtik smirked when he came out of interrogation and saw Jane. He made a point to come over and gloat before he left. "Just so you know," the odious man said, "I'm going sue the CBI and the Attorney General's office for wrongful arrest and unlawful imprisonment. I'll drop the suit when they fire you and Agent Lisbon."

Ha. Like Jane cared about this job. And over his dead body would Lisbon be fired over this waste of oxygen. "Best of luck."

Kurtik tossed back a parting shot, but Jane wasn't really paying attention anymore. Kurtik wasn't worth spending any more brain cells on.

Disappointed in his attempt to bait Jane, Kurtik nearly ran into Lisbon on his way out.

She didn't bother concealing her contempt at the sight of him. "Keep walking, Mr. Kurtik, or I'm going have to arrest you again."

He bent down to look her in the eye. Made a point to trail his eyes over the full length of her body. He leered at her. "If you were fifteen years younger, I'd give you a shot."

A silver hot thread of rage unfurled in Jane's chest.

Lisbon looked back at Kurtik, disgusted but otherwise unmoved. She'd undoubtedly heard worse in her many years as a cop. Jane, on the other hand, was unprepared by how badly he suddenly wanted to bash in Kurtik's stupid, smirking face. He imagined wrapping his fingers around Kurtik's neck, crushing his windpipe like a plastic straw. Lisbon met his eyes and he smoothed his features, taking care to hide his revulsion.

Kurtik sauntered past Lisbon and left. _Good riddance,_ Jane thought. He'd be back, though. He'd pay for what he'd done to Christine. At least if Jane had anything to say about it.

Lisbon straightened and stepped away from the post she was leaning on. She was upset about something, Jane noted, taking stock of the downturned corners of her mouth. Not Kurtik. She knew he wasn't worth the time. Something else. Hm. He'd have to devote some thought to the matter.

In the meantime, he had a plan to hatch.

Xxx

After his plan had borne fruit – four arrests for one murder, not bad – he went to find Lisbon so he could bask in her appreciation. Well, so he could relish his victory in her presence, anyway. Lisbon was generally not inclined to outpourings of praise, especially where he was concerned. On the contrary, she seemed to think his ego needed deflating. She'd apparently taken this on as a personal mission – she was more likely to greet him with a snarky remark than an expression of congratulations or thanks. Still, he did rather enjoy watching her roll her eyes and pretend not to be impressed by the effectiveness of his plans.

He heard Jack Tanner's voice coming from a room down the hall. "Statutory rape, huh?" he said, his voice hollow. "What'll he get?"

"He probably won't serve time," Lisbon responded. She sounded resigned, but not unsympathetic. "Not without Christine's testimony. But we'll have fun trying."

That was Lisbon. Ever the pragmatist. Jane resolved then and there that he would do everything in his power to make sure Kurtik spent many of the years to come locked up in a cold, dark cell. Even if for some reason his creative powers failed him and Kurtik managed to evade jail time, he'd find some other way to make him pay. He was Patrick Jane, after all. He could certainly think of more than one way to ruin a man's life.

"You have good kids," Lisbon said. There was something bigger on her mind. She'd debated with herself whether to bring it up. Jane could hear it in her voice, in the hesitant pause before she'd spoken.

He stood stock still in the hallway, rooted to the spot. He probably shouldn't be listening to this.

"Yeah. I do," Tanner agreed.

"You're all they have," she persisted.

"Yeah, I know." Tanner's voice was sheepish, ashamed. He stepped out into the hall. Jane imagined he wanted to escape Lisbon's clear, honest gaze boring into him. He knew the look. Not judging, just… seeing. He could sympathize with Tanner's instinct to flee. It was an uncomfortable thing, being seen, when one was accustomed to hiding from the world.

Lisbon's voice followed him, devastatingly quiet. "Be good to them."

Tanner turned, defensive. "I am good to them."

Lisbon pursued him out into the hall, determined now. "My father was a good man, just like you are." She met his gaze squarely. "And after my mother died, he was a self-pitying drunk, just like you are." She swallowed. "Killed himself. Damn near killed me and my brothers, too."

Jane was frozen. He… she… what? He'd known she'd experienced trauma in her youth, that she'd cared for a dysfunctional parent. He'd guessed it after knowing her less than five minutes. But this wasn't some vague, unsubstantiated guess. This was… specific. Real. Suddenly a thousand times more difficult to ignore, to sweep under the rug. This had happened to her, and he hadn't known it. He'd known her over a year, and he hadn't known.

She'd never told him.

She pulled out a card, held it out. Her voice was soft now. "Get some help."

Tanner hesitated.

"Your kids deserve it," she continued, her arm extended. Still, she didn't press the card upon him. She waited patiently for him to take it himself. If he wanted it, he was going to have to meet her halfway. More quietly, she added, "So do you."

Tanner looked at the card in her hand, then raised his eyes and met her gaze. Their gazes locked for a split second, and something passed between them that Jane couldn't understand. Tanner swallowed, then reached out and took the card. Their eyes met again, but then Lisbon cut her eyes away.

There was nothing more to be said. Tanner turned and walked away, the card in hand.

Jane realized he'd stopped breathing somewhere along the line.

She turned. Saw him.

He forced himself to breathe normally.

She met his eyes. Gave him the briefest nod of acknowledgment.

For once, he had no idea what she was thinking. She had to know he'd heard the exchange, but she didn't look angry or upset. He looked into her eyes, and she looked back. Her eyes were deep, fathomless.

Mutely, he jerked his own head in acknowledgment.

She turned and walked away, her narrow shoulders set straight and strong.

He watched her for a few seconds, then turned and walked in the opposite direction, trying to marshal his spinning thoughts.

Of course she hadn't told him. Lisbon guarded herself fiercely. From everyone, but especially from him. She didn't want anyone to know her secrets, to see her vulnerable. Of course she hadn't told him. But she had blithely shared this information with a semi-complete stranger, for the sake of two children she'd only just met. Because she believed it could save him. Because she believed it could help save all of them.

She was so kind. So _good_. Her willingness to put her personal inclinations aside for the sake of this small, broken family amazed him. He was fall-on-your-knees humbled by the sheer depth of her compassion. At the same time, the thought of the events that had sown the seeds of that compassion horrified him.

 _Damn near killed me and my brothers.._. He had no idea what to make of this revelation. He was seized by the urge to demand she tell him what had happened. What the hell did that mean? What _exactly_ happened? He could guess, but he wanted to _know_.

 _Damn near killed me…_ The thought filled him with irrational panic. He took a deep breath, calmed himself. Her father hadn't killed her, obviously. She was here, with him.

He resisted the urge to interrogate her on the subject. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to make a nuisance of himself until she told him what he wanted to know, just to get him to stop bothering her, but this was different. Like him, Lisbon preferred to keep people at a distance when it came to things that really mattered. She wouldn't thank him for prying into her affairs. He could respect that. He would try, anyway. For now.

No matter how desperately he wanted to know.

If he knew, maybe he could…

Could what? Provide comfort? Solace? These were two things he was singularly ill-equipped to provide anyone, let alone Lisbon. Even if she would accept them from him, which was doubtful. The truth was, even if for some reason she did decide to confide in him on such a personal matter, he didn't have a clue what he would do with that information. Had no earthly idea.

He hated this feeling of being uncertain and wrong-footed. Especially when it came to Lisbon.

He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He'd regain his equilibrium. Eventually. At the moment, he was certain of two things. One, Kurtik was going down. Two…

He didn't know Teresa Lisbon half as well as he thought he did.


	4. 1x04: Ladies in Red

Jane watched the beautiful widow dab at her eyes a little too studiously with the tissue clutched in her hand and graciously accept condolences from everyone around her. Her dress was couture, he noted. Makeup expertly applied and undisturbed by tears. No smudges. Not even from the tissue. Was it even making contact with her face?

Jane's mind whirred.

After Van Pelt and Lisbon left the funeral, he turned his attention to Rigsby.

Rigsby was in love with Van Pelt, a fact that daily grew more difficult to ignore.

The poor man had developed a hopeless crush on her from the first day she'd joined the team, but Jane was starting to realize that the big lug was actually falling for her.

Van Pelt, not quite as oblivious as she pretended, was keeping her distance. She had ambition. Didn't want to be sidetracked.

Personally, Jane thought making a little time for love would do her good.

He ambled up to Rigsby once they'd gone. "Have you told her how you feel?"

Rigsby muttered something about coworkers, rules, and vibes.

Jane dismissed this. Love was love, wasn't it? "You gotta go get her, man. You've got to seduce her."

"Seduction's not really my strong suit," Rigsby grumbled.

"Meh." Jane decided to give Rigsby the benefit of his experience and lectured him for a moment on the basic principles of seduction. The poor guy could use all the help he could get. Meanwhile, he kept one eye on the widow. There was an opportunity here he didn't want to miss. Happily, it dovetailed nicely with the problems of Rigsby the lovelorn.

He concluded his lecture. Now it was time for business. Accordingly, he drew Rigsby into a bet that he could seduce any woman in the place.

Rigsby smirked. "Okay. The widow."

Jane smiled to himself. Good old Rigsby. So predictable. Without waiting for Rigsby to think through the implications of what he'd just suggested, he left his side and strode over to the widow. She eyed him warily. He wasn't worried. He intended to make a hell of a first impression.

Xxx

As he'd predicted, Jennifer Sands demanded an in-person apology after his little stunt at the funeral. Conveniently, this demand interrupted Minelli's obligatory dressing down after the incident in question. He never paid much attention to such things, but they were rather tedious to endure, especially when he had more important things to do. On the upside, Lisbon stood by him, looking cute as a button in her plaid shirt as she listened patiently to Minelli's rant. Good old Lisbon. She was always there for him. On the other hand, was it really necessary for her to so placidly accept Minelli's statement that he made her life a living hell? Would it have been that much trouble to register even a token objection? He wasn't _that_ bad.

Remembering his most recent scheme, and the one he was currently plotting, he hastily resolved to buy her a bear claw at the earliest possible convenience. It would probably have to wait until the case was over, but that was all right. Lisbon was more inclined to indulge herself once a case was closed anyway. If he played it right, he might even be able to get her to share it with him.

At Minelli's urging, Jane dutifully went down to San Francisco to meet Mrs. Sands and execute the next step in his plan. After a delightful visit with little Julie Sands and an illuminating conversation with her mother, Jane headed back to the CBI.

Jane listened from his couch while the team discussed the missing ten million dollars and where it might have gotten to.

"Are you sure the widow doesn't know where it is?" Cho asked him.

"No, she's genuinely broke. And genuinely scared." Well, that was true, even if it wasn't exactly for the reasons he was implying. He was pretty sure that what she was scared of was what would happen if she couldn't track down the ten million.

Lisbon looked at him a little askance. "You're not soft on her, are you?"

Jane dismissed this. "No." He paused, watching her face. "Well, maybe a little." He searched her features for evidence of jealousy and was slightly disappointed to find none. He paused, disturbed by his disappointment. Why should he want her to be jealous? Not wanting to examine this too deeply, he moved on. "We need to talk to the lawyer, what's his name."

" _We_ need to talk to him," Lisbon responded. "You need to stay well away."

Well, he'd give her that. Tall dark and slimy would undoubtedly respond better to Lisbon's crisp professionalism and adorable plaid shirt than he would to Jane.

Lisbon paused. "Did you say maybe a little?"

On second thought, there _was_ a trace of jealousy in her voice. Pleased, he settled back on his couch more comfortably to tease her.

The thought crossed his mind that Lisbon could do with some love and affection in her life. She deserved that. He considered this. Perhaps he should take it upon himself to arrange for a little romance in her life. He was a master manipulator—fixing up Lisbon with some nice, good-looking guy was certainly within his power. It shouldn't be hard. Any man with eyes and half a brain would jump at the chance to go out with Lisbon, he was sure. It was just a matter of finding someone who was worthy of her.

Much later, the case solved and the gorgeous, not-so-sincerely-grieving widow safely locked in the back of a squad car, Jane slipped a hundred dollars into Rigsby's pocket. He watched him watch Van Pelt and advised him to go for it. Rigsby was hopeless, but he was a good man. He deserved to find love. And he would treat Van Pelt like a queen, so it would be good for her, too. He, Jane, might not be capable of such emotions anymore, but that didn't mean he wished his solitary existence on the other people in his life. Unlike him, these were good people. They deserved happiness.

He took the middle seat in the Suburban on the way back to Sacramento, next to Grace and behind Cho, riding shotgun. Lisbon, of course, was driving. Rigsby was relegated to the back. The better to stare at the back of Van Pelt's neck, Jane supposed. Apparently, Rigsby wasn't quite ready to take Jane's advice. Jane wasn't too worried, though. It was only a matter of time before he cracked.

Jane's eyes came to rest on Lisbon, her gaze fixed steadily on the road, her small, delicate hands resting on the steering wheel in a sure, confident grip.

Not that delicate, he reminded himself, remembering the sight of a particularly unfortunate suspect who had been on the receiving end of her impressively powerful right hook recently. The guy had gone down like a ton of bricks.

He studied her profile. She really was lovely. Objectively speaking, that is. He wondered that there wasn't a line of guys queuing up outside her office offering anything they could for a chance to seduce _her_.

Perhaps they were intimidated by her? It was true she had a somewhat prickly exterior, but she was so soft and warm on the inside. Compassionate. Giving. How could people not see that?

He remembered his resolution to help Lisbon find romance in her life and turned his mind to the problem of finding someone worthy of her affections.

He ran through a list of her acquaintances in his head, looking for a suitable candidate. Saunders from Organized Crime might do, he thought. He'd seen the covert glances the man sent at Lisbon when he thought no one was looking. Saunders was a decent guy. Kind, competent. He frowned. A bit tall, though.

Maybe Velasquez, from the tactical unit, was a better choice. Lisbon liked him—he'd heard them discussing baseball once. But Velasquez was awfully, well…coppish. By the book. A rigid thinker. Perhaps not the best match for Lisbon, after all. Lisbon needed someone who would appreciate the full range of her incredibly fine mind. Someone who could draw out her wild side a little. Her innate daring, her creativity.

He continued to flip through his mental Rolodex, confident that he could come up with at least one man at the CBI who had the potential be the kind of man who deserved her.

Not someone too tall, though. Or too coppish.


	5. 1x05: Redwood

A/N: This tag is dedicated to the guest reviewer for another one of my stories who requested an update to this one - here you go! Enjoy. :)

xxx

It was obvious to Jane that Nicole was the key to this whole case. If he could unlock her memories, they would know who had hurt her and killed Kara.

Accordingly, he helped himself to the mp3 player the girls had been listening to that night and pulled up the most recent playlist. This would be the perfect memory aid. He listened to a few of the songs to get himself into the spirit of the thing.

Lisbon jerked one of the earbuds from his ear, trying to capture his full attention, even though he'd already made his recommendation on the subject of the unfortunately named Rulon Farnes. Really, it was perfectly obvious the man hadn't done it. Lisbon, of course, was unwilling to take his pronouncement on faith. She demanded an explanation.

He outlined his reasoning, but Lisbon was less than impressed. She mocked his logic, but before he could mount a defense, her eyes strayed to the music player, distracted. "Is that Kara's mp3 player?" she asked, aghast.

"Yes."

"What are you doing with it?" she demanded.

"Listening to her music," Jane answered. "It's very good."

"That's _evidence,_ " Lisbon said, shocked. "You can't play with that."

"Evidence of what? That she liked music?" He chuckled a little at his own joke.

Lisbon was not amused. "It's in the log as physical evidence. It's evidence."

"Okay." He looked to the others for help. "What's with her?"

Three stony faces stared back at him. "Seriously," Rigsby said, as severe as Jane had ever seen him. "If it's in the log, it's in the log. You can't touch it."

Huh. Et tu, Rigsby?

This must have something to do with those 'rules of evidence' Lisbon was always droning on about. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Law enforcement. He'd never understand how they could be so touchy about every little law.

He distracted Lisbon with a question about her intentions regarding the unfortunate Rulon Farnes and found he'd swayed her in the end. Mostly. He supposed she _may_ have decided to release Rulon because she didn't have any evidence on the man and couldn't legally hold him, but Jane was confident his argument had been the deciding factor. She agreed to let Rulon go, but informed the team she intended to keep him under surveillance.

He considered convincing her that watching Rulon was a waste of time, but then decided perhaps it would be best if Lisbon's attentions were occupied elsewhere for the time being. He had a plan, and he was eager to get it underway. Best not to bother Lisbon with the details at the moment. He was certain she wouldn't approve.

Xxx

He headed back to the hospital. Helping Nicole escape was a trifling matter, and soon they were on their way to the scene of the crime.

He kept the car moving down the road at a steady pace. "Do you trust me, Nicole?"

"Yes." She said it without hesitation, without guile.

He faltered. Trust. It was a precious thing. No one had trusted him like that in a long time. Angela and Charlotte had looked at him with trust like that. It was a huge responsibility, that trust. For a second, he couldn't breathe. He wasn't entirely certain he could bear the burden of it.

He shook off his doubts and hit play on the music player. "I'm going to help you remember what happened to you that night."

She shrank into her seat a little. "I don't want to remember." Poor kid. For a second, a part of him wanted to stroke her hair like he would have done for his daughter and assure her that everything was all right. He was here now. The nightmare was over. She could just go back to sleep and forget all about it.

He suppressed the urge. Ruthlessly, he pressed on. She wasn't a child. She needed to see the truth. "You have to. Wherever you go, until you know the truth of what happened, you'll be haunted. Until you see Kara's death redeemed, you'll be haunted." This, he knew. Ghosts couldn't haunt with nearly the strength that uncertainty did. "You have to know the truth."

After a moment, she spoke again. "It makes me feel sad," she said in a small voice.

The music. It was working. She was starting to remember.

He drew the story from her, helping her to recall more of the details.

She grew agitated. "I'm gonna be sick."

He pulled the car over. He soothed and pushed. More of the story emerged. Nicole remembered what Kara had told her.

She got out of the car. Wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't want to remember anymore."

Ruthless, again. "You must."

She was crying now. "I'm scared."

He put his jacket around her thin shoulders. "Nicole, I've been where you're going. I know how you feel. I know. But you have to be brave. I'm here. I won't let anything bad happen. I promise." He could protect her. He'd failed his wife and daughter, but this girl, he could protect. He could save her from the torture of uncertainty. He could prevent the man who'd hurt them from ever hurting anyone again. This time, he could.

He could see the light flickering in her eyes. She was remembering.

Crying, she told him about Kara dying to save her. About being put in the back of a car, being transported over a bumpy road.

His phone rang. Lisbon. He ignored the call. He didn't have time for distractions right now. He was so close.

"The door is locked," Nicole gasped. "I'm trapped. I'm going to die!"

He continued to press her. "The door is unlocked if you want it to be. Open the door, Nicole. Open it."

She opened the door.

Jane felt sick as she described the scene in halting tones. The man had struck her. Thrown her to the floor and tried to rape her.

But she was okay. She'd fought him off. She'd escaped. She'd remembered.

He tucked Nicole safely away back in the car and called Lisbon. She was annoyed about something. He ignored this and passed on Nicole's description of the man who had attacked her. "We're looking for a tall, well-built man with brown hair and glasses. Mid-thirties."

"That's it?" Lisbon said irritably. "That describes half the men in California."

She had a point. On the other hand, it definitely eliminated Nicole and Rulon Farnes as suspects, so that was something, wasn't it?

Lisbon was less generous in her assessment. "Nice work," she groused. "For this, you illegally abducted her from the sheriff's custody."

Ah, that was what she was annoyed about. He should have known. "I was going to tell you, but I figured, seeing as it's illegal, best to keep you out of it. So you have deniability."

"How considerate of you," she said sarcastically. The woman just didn't appreciate his thoughtful gestures. She exhaled into the phone. "Listen to me very carefully, and do exactly as I tell you. Take her back to the hospital right now and sincerely apologize to Sheriff Nelson."

He considered this. Now that he'd helped her unlock her memories, Nicole probably _would_ be safer back at the hospital under the sheriff's protection, at least until they figured out which brown-haired man was responsible for the attack. But there was no way he was apologizing to Nelson, sincerely or otherwise.

He got back in the car.

He drove a ways down the road, mulling over the problem of the brown-haired man. "Is there anything else specific you can remember about him?" he asked Nicole.

She shook her head. "Just what he looked like. That's all I remember."

"Doesn't matter how small it is. Little things, like what his voice sounded like, or what he smelled like."

She thought for a moment. "Pineapple," she said at last.

He called Lisbon back.

"Pineapple," he said without preamble. "He smelled like pineapple." See? He could share information.

"Pineapple?" she demanded in an endearingly familiar tone of irritation. "What the hell? Go—"

She stopped short. He heard her breathing change. A quick, barely perceptible intake of breath.

Then her voice, eerily calm. "Okay. Good." She spoke in an even, measured tone. She sounded oddly far away. "Listen," she said quietly. "Tell Rigsby Teresa needs his help."

Teresa?

Time stopped.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Lisbon needed help. The team wasn't with her, for some reason. She was alone with Kara's murderer.

She continued speaking, her voice still unbelievably calm. "Me? I'm at the Eagle Pine Lodge off Route 6."

There was a faint rustling as she slid her phone into her pocket. "Kyle." He recognized her soothing, 'let's be reasonable' voice. "Let's stay calm, and think this through." Like they were solving a problem together.

Kyle. The ranger with the brown hair and glasses. It had been one of the searchers after all.

He focused on Lisbon's voice. She sounded calm, controlled. Like she was going to make everything okay, just with the sound of her voice.

He let her soothing tone wash over him, taking several deep breaths. He didn't need to worry about Lisbon. She could protect herself. Hell, she protected _him_ most of the time. Everything was going to be okay.

He heard Kyle's voice again. Reality swung around and broadsided him across the side of the head. Teresa Lisbon was alone with the man who had tried to rape and kill Nicole. This was _not okay_.

Snapping back to attention, he dialed Rigsby frantically and relayed the message that Lisbon needed help as quickly as possible.

Jane remembered seeing the ranger in the hallway at the hospital when Jason had tried to sneak in to see Nicole. She had grown agitated after the incident, but it wasn't because she was afraid of her fiancé. She had reacted to the sound of Kyle's voice.

He switched back to the call with Lisbon and tried to figure out what was going on.

"Please, Kyle." Her voice was still maddeningly calm. "I really and truly do not want to hurt you."

That was good. Lisbon had her weapon.

He could heard a light chuckle from the man on the other end of the line. "You like your chances, do you?"

That was bad. Kyle was armed as well.

Still, Jane would back Lisbon in a shootout over Kyle the Ranger any day. He frowned. Not that it would come to that, surely. At any moment, Kyle would realize that Lisbon could pulverize him with her hands tied behind her back and he'd surrender peaceably. He'd probably—

Gunshots rang out. A lot of them.

A soft gasp of pain. Then an eternity of silence.

Jane's heart stopped beating in his chest. He licked his lips. "Ah, Lisbon?" No answer. Then more insistently, "Lisbon?" Still no response. From there, he proceeded straight into panic. He really hadn't thought he still had the capacity for this level of fear. What an unpleasant surprise. "Lisbon!"

"Shhh," she hissed into the phone a hundred years later.

He'd never been so grateful to be shushed in his life. "You all right?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "Did you call Rigsby?"

Now that his brain was free from that paralyzing fear, he thought quickly. "Yeah, he's on his way. Listen, I have an idea."

"Fine, go ahead. I guess beggars can't be choosers," she muttered into the phone.

Oh, good, she was snarking at him. He breathed easier.

He explained his plan. Lisbon agreed to try it.

"On the count of three, okay?" he whispered.

"Okay," she whispered back.

"One…two… three!"

He heard the clatter and scrape of the phone as it slid across the floor. He counted two mississippis, then shouted at the top of his lungs. "Lisbon, be careful!" Nicole, next to him in the close confines of the car, flinched at the sound.

More shots. Glass shattering. His eyes flicked between the road and his phone, his stomach churning with anxiety. Had it worked?

He waited a minute longer, then said tentatively, "Ah, Lisbon?"

Nothing. Again.

Belatedly, it occurred to him he'd failed to consider one crucial element of the plan. No matter if the plan had succeeded or failed, he was still stuck waiting, powerless to influence the outcome.

He gripped the steering wheel and focused on controlling his breathing. His heart beat in his chest more quickly than he was accustomed to.

"Mr. Jane?" Nicole said tentatively. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said, voice tight. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She glanced at his hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine." He forced another breath into his lungs. "I'm just worried about my friend." Yes. That was it. Lisbon was his friend. He rolled the word around in his mind. He hadn't considered calling her anything in particular before. He'd never bothered assigning her any kind of appellation that might imply some semblance of permanence in his life. But once applied, he found it was true. The word fit. She was his friend. And he was worried about her. Because that was what friends did when their friends decided to face down murderers by themselves in the middle of the night in isolated cabins.

He forced himself to consider the situation logically. She had slid the phone across the room maybe thirty seconds ago. She'd made a run for it. Kyle had shot at the phone, not at her. The shots hadn't hit her. They _hadn't_. She'd made it outside safely. If Rigsby wasn't there yet, she might have tried to make a break for the car. Or headed into the woods on foot. He hoped she was wearing good shoes.

Oh, God, was she wearing good shoes? Frantically, he combed his memory palace to recall what she'd been wearing earlier. Classic Lisbon button-down. Tight jeans he'd admired from afar. Leather jacket—she looked cute in leather. But which shoes was she wearing? He worried she wouldn't be able to move fast enough if she was in those high-heeled boots she favored. He flashed on her feet treading the dirt path next to him and breathed easier. No, it was okay, she'd worn good sturdy flats for their tramp through the woods earlier. She'd be fine. Even if she needed to run into the forest. At night. Alone. With a killer chasing after her.

He was having that breathing problem again.

No. He was overreacting. The plan had worked. She'd caught Kyle the Ranger, and was currently making him regret he'd ever been born. She just needed to complete the arrest, lock him up in the squad car, and tell Rigsby to keep an eye on him. Then she'd come back for her phone. These things took time. She'd be back soon. He just needed to be patient.

He took another breath.

Okay, seriously? What the hell was she doing? She'd captured the creepy overgrown boy scout, hadn't she? What was she doing dawdling out there without her goddamned phone? He shouted again, raising his voice even further. "Lisbon!"

Nicole winced again.

Still nothing.

"Do you think she's okay?" Nicole asked anxiously.

He inhaled through his nose. Out through his mouth. "Yeah. I know she looks like a delicate woodland creature from another world, but Lisbon's tough. She wouldn't let Kyle get the drop on her." She better not have, dammit. He'd gotten used to having her around. He didn't want to get unused to it.

The phone rustled again.

His heart jumped in his chest. "Lisbon?"

There was a pause. Then—"Jane?" Her voice was surprised. "You still there?"

He exhaled a huge sigh of relief. "Of course I'm still here, woman, where else would I be?"

"I don't know," she snarked. "Kidnapping another attempted murder victim from police custody, perhaps?"

He pulled the car over and parked it. His hands were shaking. "No, I thought I'd stick with the one I have, actually."

"Did you take her back to Nelson yet?" she demanded.

"Forget Nelson. What happened with Kyle? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Kyle's in custody. Rigsby has him in the back of the rig. We'll take him back to town in a few minutes."

"And no one got shot?" he double-checked.

"No one got shot," she confirmed.

"That's good," he said. "Skin as beautiful as yours should not be allowed to be marred by bullet holes. It would be a crime against nature."

There was a pause as she tried to figure out what to do with that. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he usually didn't voice thoughts like that around Lisbon. Doing so was probably an extremely bad idea.

Predictably, she decided to ignore it. "Take Nicole back to the hospital," she ordered him. "I'll meet you there."

Xxx

They said their good-byes to Nicole the next day.

A wave of melancholy swept over him. The usual post-case euphoria he normally derived from putting one over on someone eluded him. He handed Lisbon the keys. He didn't feel like driving.

Lisbon, trying to cheer him up, gave him a sideways smile. "Hey, can you believe he fell for that old cell phone gag?"

He paused. "Old cell phone gag?" He could hardly let that stand. "I invented that right there and then. Rather brilliantly, I thought." Once he'd gotten past the mind-numbing fear, that is.

"Oh, please. I've seen that done a dozen times."

"What do you mean? Where?"

"On TV."

"Oh, on TV. Well, anything can happen on TV." They got in the car. "The question is, where have you seen that done in real life?"

"Come on, it's the oldest trick in the book," Lisbon protested as she pulled away.

"Name one time you've seen anything like that in real life," Jane said, incredulous.

Silence reigned as she wracked her brain to come up with an example.

"That's what I thought," he said, satisfied.

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Oh, shut up."

He hid a smile. Huh. Whaddya know. He actually felt a little better.

Lisbon glanced over at him. "You all right?"

He pasted on an insincere smile, designed to deflect. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were a bit quiet last night at the hospital."

This was disturbing to hear. Not that he'd been quiet, but that she'd noticed.

He saw his mistake now. He should have gloated more. That was the behavior she'd come to expect of him. Now, apparently, she considered a simple lack of obnoxious bragging a signal that all was not well in the emotional landscape of Patrick Jane.

She was really getting to know him entirely too well.

Not wanting to give her more fodder for analysis, he shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. "Meh."

Being Lisbon, she refused to let it go. "Is something bothering you?"

She could be tiresomely tenacious at times. He searched for something to distract her. "Actually, yes. There is something bothering me."

"What's that?"

"Sheriff Nelson's secret life. Fishnet stockings or an unhealthily close relationship with his mother?"

She ignored his attempt to brush her off. "I'm serious. Did something happen yesterday?"

Well, let's see. Your consultant discovered that apparently a few notes of an old song are enough to send him to lala land, because there were a couple points yesterday where he experienced actual lost time reliving old memories so vivid he temporarily lost all awareness of his surroundings. But you probably shouldn't worry too much about that. It's not like failure to maintain awareness of one's surroundings could be a catastrophic liability for someone who works with violent criminals for a living.

No, you have more important things to worry about. Such as the fact that after his little trip down memory lane, your consultant drove a twenty year old girl out to the scene of her best friend's murder and her own kidnapping and essentially browbeat her into reliving the most horrific night of her life for the sake of producing a description of a brown-haired man with glasses. Or, you know, perhaps the fact that said description in turn led to you being shot at. No biggie.

Except it was, actually. Because it caused your consultant to realize that while you might consider him the emotional equivalent of a pebble in your shoe, you're actually a rather prominent figure in his life. The practical effect of which is that through no fault or effort of your own, you're now saddled with an unenviable position of responsibility when it comes to the continued sanity of that pesky consultant. For example, since he is actually literally not capable of dealing with any more loss in his life, he'd really prefer it if you could kindly refrain from engaging in any more gun fights with psychopaths in the future. He's sure that won't be a problem in your chosen profession of homicide detective.

"No. Not really," he answered at last. That much was true, at least. There was nothing out of the ordinary to report. Just another day at the ranch when it came to the neuroses of Patrick Jane.

She frowned. "Not really? What does that mean?"

"Nothing," he said, cursing himself for his mistake. "Forget it."

"You meant something," she persisted. "Come on, Jane. What's going on in your head right now?"

Oh, Lisbon, he thought. There be dragons. Trust me, you don't want a piece of that mess.

Put another way: three things you don't want to see how they're made… laws, sausages, and the inside of Patrick Jane's head.

"I was just thinking about what a fine morning it is," he lied. "All this fresh mountain air." He made a show of inhaling deeply. "Wonderful for the constitution."

Her mouth tightened. "Fine. Don't tell me."

He sighed. Sometimes the best way of dealing with Lisbon was to cede some portion of the truth to her. If he set her chewing on one of his issues, she'd probably leave the others well enough alone for the time being.

He decided to pick the easiest one. "Do you think I was too hard on Nicole?"

She frowned. "What? What do you mean?"

"I pushed her pretty hard last night. She was scared, but I bullied her into remembering. Told her it was for her own good. That she'd never be free, until she saw Kara's death redeemed."

Lisbon was silent a moment. He could tell she'd made the obvious connection.

"I think," she said carefully, "that following a difficult path is worth some sacrifice if you have the promise of freedom waiting for you at the end of it."

He looked down. "I hope so."

She glanced over at him. "She seemed okay this morning."

"I suppose."

"She seemed more okay today than she would have if she was still stuck in that hospital, afraid someone was going to try to kill her again," Lisbon said.

That was a good point. He paused. "So you're saying that actually, what I did was a little bit heroic?"

"Yes, Jane," she said dryly. "Kidnapping a girl from a hospital and driving her out to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night… it's pretty much straight out of Heroics 101. You should probably get a medal."

"Well, since you were the one who actually caught the murderer, perhaps I'd be willing to share it with you," he said fairly.

Her lips quirked. "Good of you."

He smiled involuntarily. Her sarcasm was one of his favorite things about her.

He thought of the sound of the gunshots over the phone the night before. His smile faded. "I was worried about you last night," he confessed.

Her brow furrowed. "About me?"

She acted as though the idea of someone worrying about her well-being was a completely foreign concept.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Lisbon. Most people find the idea of bullets flying in the direction of their friends and colleagues worrying."

"I'm fine, Jane," she said dismissively.

He looked away. "I know."

Seeing he didn't appear comforted by her assurance, she tried again. "The guy was a lousy shot."

This made him feel worse. "Yeah." The trouble was, the next one might not be.

"I'm a cop, Jane," she said gently. "Sometimes we end up in the line of fire. It's part of the job. I know what I signed up for."

"I know." He did know that, rationally. That didn't mean he had to like it. "It's just…"

She glanced over at him. "Yes?"

He avoided her gaze. "Well, I've invested a lot of time in you and your team. It would be incredibly inconvenient for me to have to train a new person if you went and got yourself shot at this stage of the game."

Her mouth fell open in indignation. " _Train_?"

Oh, good, she was irritated with him. At last, they were on safer ground. "Yes, it would be dreadfully tedious for me to have to adjust to someone new. Imagine if I got stuck with one of those inflexible old school cops with no imagination. Someone who let by the book thinking overrule true justice and compassion. It would be a disaster. A real nightmare for Minelli and the higher ups."

"You always make fun of me for following the rules," she protested.

He shook his head. "You are awfully coppish, it's true, but at least your character is worthy of respect. You care more about protecting innocent people than ascending the career ladder. And you're pretty decent at picking up cues when I lay them out for you. I don't think I could stomach working with someone who wasn't sharp enough to keep up with me, after working with you. Anyway, the point is, I'd appreciate it if you could make every effort to avoid being shot at in the future. Everyone involved will be much better off."

She paused. "Was there a compliment buried in there somewhere?"

Well, that just proved she'd completely missed the point, didn't it? "Stop fishing. You know you're an amazing cop."

She appeared startled by this assessment. "Thanks, Jane," she said, clearly touched.

He paused. Oh. She really didn't know how amazing she was. He shook his head. It was so strange, interacting with someone truly humble. He didn't have a proper frame of reference for it.

He brushed past the moment, which was entirely too sincere for his liking moment. "Too bad you were too busy wasting time watching Rulon Farnes last night to catch the really interesting action."

She let out a startled laugh. "Oh, you mean like actually catching the murderer? That kind of interesting action?"

"Meh. You wouldn't have even known what you were looking for if me and Nicole hadn't been doing the hard work."

"You're referring to the onerous task of describing a brown-haired man with glasses?" she teased.

"Recovering memories is a delicate business, Lisbon. It requires skill and patience. It's much harder than it looks." He flashed on the image of Charlotte playing the piano with Angela. Sometimes it was worth the pain and effort, though.

He glanced over at Lisbon. A small smile played about her lips as she teased him.

He decided to let this moment sneak its way into his memory palace. Find a home there. After all, Lisbon was his friend, wasn't she? She deserved a little space in there. And if he had a few memories of her eyes sparkling with mischief and her pretty little smiles to call up in the future when she was busy yelling at him, so much the better.

He sat back, idly observing the graceful arch of her neck as they continued their friendly dispute over whose contribution to the case was most significant.

He was willing to grant her that actually collaring the murderer was certainly a praiseworthy achievement by any standards. But surely he deserved at least equal credit for pointing her in the right direction in the first place. Just where would they be without his critical pineapple hint, anyway?

Also, the cell phone gag had totally been his idea.


	6. 1x06: Red Handed

A/N: I have really been struggling with this series lately. This chapter was a lot of fun to write, but then I got completely stuck on the next episode and haven't been able to get past that one. I still plan to continue the series through season 1, but it will probably take me a while. In the meantime, I'm continuing to chip away at Beyond Measure and a couple other smaller projects. Thanks for sticking with me through my infrequent updates.

P.S. I shamelessly stole a line from Idan in this chapter and adapted it for my own nefarious purposes. I hope she won't mind. :)

xxx

Jane flipped a loose poker chip into the air with his thumb and caught it again as he strolled through the casino. He'd cashed in the rest of his chips, but he thought he'd hang on to this one for the moment. For luck. Or as his initial stake in his next game. Whatever.

This was his kind of case. Dark family secrets, professional cheaters, the glitz and glamour of a high end casino… what's not to like?

He'd thoroughly enjoyed himself that afternoon. It had been ages since he'd had a good score. He'd almost forgotten the heady euphoria of parting rich marks from their money.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, reluctant to leave. He'd had vague hopes that he might extract some additional information from some of the other casino employees, so he thought he might stick around a little longer. Plus, he hadn't hit the slots yet.

A glint of green caught his eye as he meandered past the huge glass storefront of the casino gift shop. He stopped, arrested.

Emeralds. Diamonds and jewels of richest green. Earrings and a necklace. A beautiful set. Jewelry fit for a queen.

An image of clear green eyes flashed before his mind's eye. Lisbon would look lovely in those emeralds.

Before he was even conscious of forming the thought, he found himself inside. He went to the display and picked up the box to examine the pieces more closely.

"Excuse me," a scandalized voice came from behind him. "You can't touch that!"

He turned, the box still in hand. A pretty young woman about Van Pelt's age hurried towards him, a horrified look on her face.

"Really, sir, those are meant for—" She got a look at his face and faltered. "Oh!" She turned pink. "Um… what I meant to say is, that's a display case. You're really not supposed to…" She trailed off, staring into his eyes.

This would require delicate handling.

He flashed his most charming smile at her. "Forgive me. I saw the display from outside and I couldn't resist coming in to take a closer look. I hope that's all right."

"Oh," she said, flustered. "Um. In that case… I suppose it can't hurt, can it?"

Old Nicki would have a field day with this girl, Jane thought, thinking of his light-fingered friend from his carnie days. "What's your name?" he asked her.

She blushed. "Jessica."

Of course it was.

He held the box out towards her. "Jessica, perhaps you could tell me a little bit more about the set."

"Of course," she said automatically. She took the box and set it down on the counter between them. She rattled off the history of the diamonds, assuring him that they'd been mined in through "socially responsible" methods and giving him several other tidbits of information apparently designed to appeal to his romantic side.

Jane leaned down to look closer. "Tell me about the emeralds."

The emeralds had been mined in Brazil, according to Jessica, and had been custom cut for this set by one of their best jewelers. They were stunning.

He gestured to the necklace. "May I?"

"Certainly," she said, flushing.

He picked up the necklace to examine it more closely. The light glinted off the diamonds, making the rich color of the emeralds stand out all the more. He'd never seen jewels of such brilliant green. They would set off Lisbon's coloring perfectly.

He couldn't get them for her, of course. She'd be horrified. She'd probably start spouting some nonsense about regulations and how as his "boss," she couldn't accept such things from her consultant. She'd fret over the expense and insist she couldn't accept it.

Pity. Lisbon deserved to be spoiled a little. He had the feeling there hadn't been a lot of extravagant gifts in her past. Not from her drunkard father, too absorbed in his grief and the bottle to take any special notice of what a singularly impressive individual his only daughter was turning out to be. Probably not from past boyfriends, either. Lisbon struck him as the type who would be impatient with efforts to woo her with expensive trinkets.

Besides, she might get the wrong idea. Most women, if presented with a set of obscenely expensive jewelry by a man of their acquaintance, might interpret that as a romantic overture.

No. Not Lisbon. He dismissed the thought. She'd be more likely to assume it was part of some trick or scheme. She might gape like a goldfish, but she was used to his eccentric ways. She wouldn't attribute any secret motive of attraction to the gift. She knew how he was. She knew he wasn't… free to pursue such interests. He could just imagine her glaring at him and demanding what the con was. Suspicious woman.

It was settled then. He couldn't get them for her. He would put the necklace down and walk out of the store.

His feet remained rooted to the spot.

It was silly, really. Why shouldn't she accept the necklace and earrings? It wasn't like he had anything better to spend the money on.

Perhaps he could explain to her that he would literally rather throw the money into a fire than risk putting himself under the power of its mastery once again. His enslavement to the promise of wealth had cost him everything of true value he'd ever had in this world. Never again would he allow the allure of money to blind or misguide him.

No. He didn't want her to know any more about that side of him than she already did. He absolutely should not risk exposing that part of himself by buying her thousands of dollars' worth of jewelry. He would not hand over his winnings for the admittedly remote chance of being treated to the sight of Teresa Lisbon in diamonds and emeralds.

The only thing was… he really, really wanted to.

He wavered. He hadn't wanted anything besides revenge in so long. He didn't want to let go of the feeling.

Besides, those emeralds would look lovely with Lisbon's eyes.

"What do you think?" Jessica asked, interrupting his musings.

"I'll take them," he heard himself say.

Jessica beamed. "Excellent. Shall I ring you up?"

She must work on commission, Jane reflected. "Certainly."

He handed the emeralds back to her for her to wrap. She carefully arranged them back in their box and carried the box over to the register.

"Your wife is a very lucky woman," she told Jane as she rang up the purchase, blushing a little.

Jane paused, his heart giving a funny little jolt. "Excuse me?"

She gestured to his wedding band. "Your wife. She's a very lucky woman. I'm sure she'll love the set you picked out for her."

"Oh, she's not my—" He stopped. If he told poor Jessica he was buying jewelry for a woman who wasn't his wife, she'd think he was buying them for a mistress or something. His insides squirmed. It didn't matter what Jessica thought, of course. Still, the idea of honorable Lisbon as the other woman, even in the thoughts of a stranger, made him deeply uncomfortable. Both for Lisbon's sake and for Angela's.

He stood there, flummoxed. Jessica was right. This was a gift most men would buy for a wife. Or at the very least, a long-term girlfriend. Not as a friendly gift between co-workers. Even if she knew he didn't mean anything romantic by it, Lisbon would be uncomfortable with the perception among her friends and colleagues that the gesture might be symbolic of some sort of romantic tie between the two of them. It would give her one more excuse to refuse him the opportunity of spoiling her, ever so slightly.

He puzzled over this latest potential obstacle for only a moment before he found the solution. He snapped his wallet closed. "Actually, you know what? I think I'd like to do a little more shopping before we finish up here."

"Oh," Jessica said, surprised. "Something else for your wife?"

"No," he said firmly. "Just a few things for some friends."

"Sure," Jessica said. "Do you have anything in particular in mind?"

He'd seen another necklace like the one he'd chosen for Lisbon, except it was inlaid with rubies instead of emeralds. It would suit Van Pelt nicely. Now, what to choose for Cho and Rigsby? He didn't think they'd appreciate receiving emeralds or rubies from him.

He spied a glass case full of the most hideous watches he'd ever seen. He pointed to the display. "Can I take a look at the watches you have there?"

"Of course. Which ones do you want me to take out for you?"

"Show me the most expensive ones you have."

Ten minutes later, he walked of the gift shop with his wallet considerably lighter and a small smile gracing his lips. There was no way she could refuse him now. He hadn't singled her out, given her any special treatment. Hers was just one gift among many.

He couldn't wait to see her face when she opened it.

xxx

Lisbon reacted pretty much as he'd predicted. Suspicious at first, then insistent she couldn't accept the gift. Still, she couldn't quite conceal a trace of surprised delight that made him glad he'd indulged his whim.

The rest of the team seemed pleased with their gifts, too. He was glad he'd decided to include them in his scheme.

"Thanks, man," Rigsby said with a grin, fixing the hideous watch onto his wrist.

Lisbon stood there gazing at the necklace with a look on her face that indicated she had no earthly idea what to do with it.

Good thing Jane already had an idea about that. "All right, let's go. I booked us a table at the most expensive restaurant in town. Apparently they tell you the name of the cow your steak came from."

Van Pelt looked appalled. "That's horrible."

"Forget the steaks," Lisbon said. "We're on a case. We can't be seen living it up in fancy restaurants."

He changed tactics at the speed of light. "Good point. Okay. Little place, on the way back to Calida. Come on, let's go."

He practically jogged to the elevators. The others followed, with the exception of Lisbon, who headed into her office first.

Uh-oh. He sensed a threat to his brilliant plan in the offing.

"Go on," he told the other three. "We'll catch up."

He backtracked and followed her into her office. She still held the box. Her soft smile as she admired the emeralds was gratifying to witness. He was very pleased she hadn't noticed him turn back from the elevators. If she'd known he was there, she never would have let him see her admiring his gift.

"Aren't you going to try them on?" Jane prompted her.

She jumped and snapped the lid closed. "No."

This wouldn't do. "Why not?"

She rolled her eyes. "What did you expect, that I'd just run around in the field all day wearing hundreds of dollars' worth of jewelry? I'm sure that would look real professional."

It was thousands, not hundreds, but who was counting? Still, if that was her only objection, he could overcome it easily. "Yes, I see your point. Better save it for tonight."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tonight?"

"Yes. That little place on the way to Calida I mentioned. We're all going out. Dinner for the team is on me. But I have a condition."

"Of course you do," she said dryly.

"You have to wear the necklace to dinner."

Lisbon made a face. "Really?"

"Yes. It will be the perfect occasion to try on your new jewelry."

She still looked skeptical. "You want me to wear this fancy jewelry out to a diner out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yes, and don't think you're going to get out of it. I'm afraid this condition is non-negotiable. Now, come on, Lisbon. It'll be fun. Think of it as a team bonding exercise."

She sighed. "Fine."

He grinned. "Excellent."

Xxx

Dinner was a grand success. Jane was giddy at the prospect of seeing Lisbon in the emeralds—er, the team, in all their finery—and downright gleeful at having manufactured an excuse to see them this very night. When he saw her—them—he wasn't disappointed. Striking, that was the word. Emerald green offset by ivory skin and raven hair. They were perfect.

He grew expansive under the influence of two beers and his delight with how this latest scheme had turned out. He gambled shamelessly with Rigsby and Cho, teased Grace, and flirted lightly with Lisbon. He even relaxed enough with the team to tell them about his memory palace. Lisbon was quiet most of the evening, but she smiled as the team joked around and appeared to enjoy herself. All the while, he maintained a pleasant awareness of her proximity in the back of his mind. He hadn't had such a good night in a very, very long time.

It was over all too soon.

Lisbon came back to the table after having stepped away for a moment and he could tell she was preparing to leave. "All right, guys," she said. "It's been fun playing dress up, but play time's over."

Cho leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, boss, what do you mean?"

"This," she said, gesturing to the emeralds and diamonds adorning her neck. "It's kind of a waste, don't you think?"

Jane couldn't have disagreed more. "I would have bought world peace if I could. They didn't have it at the casino gift store. Very limited range of items for sale."

She made a funny little face at him. "You know what I mean."

Then, because it would be unpardonable if she was somehow unaware of this, he abandoned his jokes and told her the truth. "I know those emeralds look lovely with your eyes."

"Thank you," she said, smiling. She took the necklace off. "It's beautiful, but I can't keep it."

"I understand." He should have known this was coming, really. He understood. That didn't mean he had to like it.

Poor Van Pelt looked reluctant to give her treasures up, but was undone by the same case of hero worship that had plagued her since she joined the unit. She wanted to impress Lisbon, so she decided give hers up, too. "Yeah, you're right." She reluctantly removed the necklace and earrings and slid them over to Jane.

Well, honestly. What was _he_ supposed to do with thousands of dollars of rubies and emeralds? Stubborn women. They had no idea how to let themselves be properly spoiled.

He received some small recompense for his disappointment by Lisbon placing a delicate hand on his shoulder for balance as she leaned over to retrieve her jacket. It was a small touch, and perfectly innocent, but it warmed his heart nonetheless. Lisbon rarely initiated touch – that she had done so now, even in this small instance, was a symbol of comfort and trust.

So… all in all, a pretty good night.

xxx

When the case was over, Jane was exhausted. Despite his pleasant evening with the team, insomnia had plagued him the night he'd given Lisbon the emeralds, and he'd stayed up all night the next night so he could trap the murderer. He wanted nothing more than to head back to his couch in Sacramento and take a well-deserved nap.

Before he could do that, however, he had a stop to make. This particular stop happened to require a rather lengthy detour. Accordingly, he drove twenty miles past the Nevada border and stopped at the hospital where Alexandra Yee's mother was being treated. He dropped the money off at the front desk, not wanting to face any emotional scenes characterized by gratitude he didn't deserve. After all, he reasoned, it was his fault Alexandra had gotten in trouble for trying to help her mother in the first place, so it was only fair that he be the one to restore to her the means of getting the medical care she needed.

That errand done, he headed back to the CBI. When he got back, he joined Lisbon for the interrogation of Daniel the wife-wagering scumbag and took great pleasure in seeing Lisbon haul the guy off in cuffs. Afterwards, he stopped to return the lucky chip to Mrs. Meier and make sure Jessica knew that her father had acted to protect her, as a father should. This interaction exposed him to the same kind of emotional expressions of gratitude he'd successfully escaped earlier in the day, but unfortunately, these couldn't be avoided.

It was early afternoon before he was reunited with his couch at long last. He settled into a reclining position and closed his eyes. Cho and Rigsby went back to their desks after it became clear they weren't going to get any details about the fate of the three hundred thousand dollars he'd won, and he finally drifted off to sleep among the familiar sounds of Van Pelt's typing, Rigsby snacking, and the rustle of paper as Cho turned pages in his book.

xxx

He woke when someone kicked his couch. Two guesses as to who.

He suppressed a groan. What had he done now? While being yelled at by Lisbon could at times be invigorating, all he really wanted to now was catch up on his sleep.

When he looked up, however, she didn't look annoyed. In fact, she looked just the opposite. Lisbon was standing over his couch, smiling at him.

He blinked up at her in confusion. Was it possible he was dreaming?

No, he decided. His dreams were never this nice.

"Hey," he croaked.

Her grin widened. "Hey."

He sat up and scrubbed his hand over his jaw. He needed a shave. He looked around. Save for him and Lisbon, the bullpen was empty. It was still light out, though, so it couldn't be very late. "Where is everybody?"

"I sent them home early. Everybody had a pretty late night last night."

Yet she, somehow, looked fresh as a daisy. "Did you sleep?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I'm going to head home in a few minutes to get some rest."

Looking up at her like this was giving him a crick in his already stiff neck. He patted the couch seat next to him in silent invitation.

To his slight surprise, she took the offered seat without any wheedling or cajoling from him. Once she'd taken her seat, she turned and positively beamed at him. "Guess what."

He searched her face, but he didn't have a clue what had put her in such a good mood. "What?"

"I got a phone call today," she said airily.

"Oh?" he said. "From who?"

She smirked at him. "Alexandra Yee."

Uh-oh. He feigned ignorance. "Is that so?"

"It is so."

"What did she have to say for herself?" Calling to rat him out, was his guess. "Was she calling to confess more gaming violations?"

"No. She called to tell me someone dropped off three hundred thousand dollars at the hospital where her mother was being treated this morning."

"Why would she call you about that?" he asked irritably. If he'd known Alexandra would turn out to be such a snitch, he might not have bothered with the whole suitcase full of money in the first place. Well, okay, he might have. But he would have made damn sure she had no way to trace it back to him.

"She was worried someone might think she'd stolen it," Lisbon said. "Wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up."

He supposed that wasn't _entirely_ unreasonable, since she had found herself on the wrong side of the law earlier that week. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her she didn't need to worry, that no one was going to come after her for that money."

"That's good. I bet she was relieved to hear that."

"She was," Lisbon confirmed.

"Well," Jane said in a falsely hearty voice. "All's well that ends well, isn't it?"

"Yes." She smirked at him again. "It's interesting, though, isn't it? How Alexandra's mom just _happened_ to get the three hundred thousand dollars she needed for her treatment the day after you _happened_ to win three hundred thousand dollars in a poker game with a murderer. That's a hell of a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"It is," Jane agreed. "She must have been born under a lucky star."

"Yes," Lisbon drawled. "Except _you_ don't believe in coincidences."

"Everybody has to be wrong sometimes. The laws of statistics indicate even I have to get one wrong one of these days."

She poked him in the arm, her emerald green eyes shining at him. "You took that money to the hospital."

The woman was a ruthless interrogator. He sighed, bowing to the inevitable. "Yes. Maybe."

"The money you won in the poker game last night."

"It certainly didn't come out of the meager paycheck you guys give me, that's for sure."

"You gave all of it to Alexandra Yee," she persisted. "So she could help her mom."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it was the least I could do, considering."

She raised an eyebrow. "Considering what?"

"I did break up a pretty good racket she had going on at the casino. An egregious violation of the first rule of the cheater's creed."

She looked amused. "The cheater's creed?"

"'Thou shalt not fink on a fellow cheater.' Really, Lisbon, how can you have been a cop so long without learning that basic principle of criminal behavior?"

"Probably because in my experience, a cheater is usually willing to fink on his fellow man in the blink of an eye if there's a chance it will save his own skin," she said dryly.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it's a real thing. The point is, I had to do something to redress the balance if I wanted to be able to hold my head high at the next Cheater's Clubhouse meeting."

Her mouth quirked, exposing her dimple. "Cheating a murderer out of three hundred thousand dollars isn't enough on its own to keep you a member in good standing?"

"That's another element of the cheater's creed, Lisbon. When the mark is crooked himself… take him for all he's worth."

"I'll be sure to remember that," she said indulgently.

He glanced at her. "Not sure what good it will do you. I doubt you could cheat your way out of a paper bag."

She swatted him lightly on the arm. "You mock, but you know, I'm on to you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You talk a good game, but you're really not as much of a cold, heartless bastard as you make yourself out to be," she informed him.

He chuckled. "If that isn't a case of being damned by faint praise, I don't know what is."

She touched him lightly on the arm. "That was a nice thing you did," she said softly.

"Meh," he said, endeavoring to hide how pleased he was at her words of approval. The truth was, though, he was rather touched. "All in a day's work."

She stood up. "Come on. I'll buy you an ice cream."

"Really?" he said, pleased. "To what do I owe this unexpected treat?"

"Well, I am two hundred dollars up after all your shenanigans at the casino," she said archly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean laying a clever trap and catching the killer? Those shenanigans?"

"Among others," she agreed. "Now, are you coming or not?"

He got to his feet. "How can I refuse an offer like that?"

He followed her to the elevator. She punched the down button and shook her head, smiling. "Sometimes I don't know why I put up with you."

This was a mystery he'd yet to solve himself.

"Days like today help me remember, though," she continued, addressing the elevator button.

He couldn't hide how pleased he was by these words. "Yeah?"

She looked over at him. A mischievous smile broke out over her face. "Sure. Closed case…and no lawsuits."

"Ha, ha." He watched her eyes sparkle as she smiled. Suddenly, he decided he didn't mind so much that she'd decided not to keep the necklace.

On second thought, those emeralds really hadn't done justice to her eyes.


	7. 1x07: Seeing Red

A/N: I haven't forgotten about this series, I'm just chipping away at it bit by bit between other projects. Red Violin kind of took over my life for most of November and December so now I'm coming back to some of my other works in progress. For those of you following Beyond Measure, I am still working on it but I must beg your patience because I am in a particularly long and tricky section and I want to get all the details sorted out across the chapters before I start posting. There may be quite a long hiatus when it comes to posting on that story as I work through various plot points, but rest assured I am still plugging away at it! Here's the next installment of Reflections to tide you over in the mean time. Hope you enjoy.

xxx

 _Your wife wants me to tell you that your daughter never woke up. She didn't know what happened. She wasn't scared, not even for a second._

She never woke up.

She wasn't scared.

Not even for a second.

Jane stared at the one way glass in the interrogation room, unseeing. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it so badly he could taste it. The strength of his wanting tasted like the bitter, coppery tang of blood. It was a terrible thing, craving so deeply to believe a lie.

His eyes were wet, but the tears refused to fall. They clogged his throat, threatening to drown him.

She wasn't scared. Not even for a second.

His baby girl. His daughter, who laughed with her whole body, her rosy cheeks dimpling and her eyes sparkling with mischief. Who kissed him on the nose when she thought he was sad, who begged for airplane rides and treated him like her own personal jungle gym. His sweet, perfect child. He stared into middle distance and remembered.

He didn't hear the door open. His brain dimly registered the faint scent of cinnamon before the rest of his mind processed the significance of its presence.

"There you are," Lisbon said, half exasperated, half affectionate. "I've been looking for you all over the place."

He turned away hastily, ducking his head. He didn't want her to see him like this.

"What is it?" he asked shortly.

She faltered at his tone and her steps paused. "I wanted to get your input on a case file I'm reviewing," she said hesitantly.

Her hesitation told him she'd sensed something was wrong. He hunched his shoulders and turned farther away from her. "I'm busy right now."

He could practically hear her frown. "Jane? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said with false bravado.

"Then why won't you look at me?" she asked, not having it. He could still hear the frown in her voice.

He didn't answer.

She approached him cautiously. "Jane."

She would not give up and go away, no matter how unpleasant he made himself. He knew this. Knew her. Recognizing there was no way to make her leave without facing her first, he bowed to the inevitable and turned to look at her. He knew she could see the redness in his eyes and hated himself for it.

She sucked in a breath. "Jane?" she said. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," he said woodenly. "Only that I'm a fool. That's all. Nothing more earth-shattering than that."

"Jane," she said unhappily.

He sighed. "Don't worry about it, Lisbon. Please. Just… go work on your case file. I'll be all right."

She drew closer and perched next to him on the interrogation table. "Grace said Kristina Frye came to see you," she said tentatively. "Did she say something that upset you?"

"Of course not," he said sharply. "Really, Lisbon. As though anything that old fraud could say could upset me."

She nodded as though to indicate her acceptance of his statement, but her eyes betrayed her. She didn't believe him.

He sighed. Really, she chose the most inconvenient times to be preternaturally perceptive. "She tried to do a reading on me," he said bitterly. He looked at Lisbon, who looked lost and uncertain, and debated the wisdom of proceeding. Really, there was no need for him to tell her this. They'd both be better off without such confidences between them. So he wasn't sure what compelled him to add, "She told me she spoke to my wife."

Lisbon looked aghast. "Oh my God."

He looked down. In for a penny. "She told me my wife told her to tell me our daughter never woke up that night. That she wasn't scared. That she didn't feel any pain."

"Jesus," Lisbon breathed.

"It's utter nonsense, of course," he said briskly, affecting an indifference he didn't remotely feel. "Total claptrap."

Lisbon's hand went to her cross. "Right," she said. "Of course."

"I can't believe I let her get under my skin like that," Jane said, furious with himself. "I mean, I know every trick in the book. I practically _wrote_ the book."

Lisbon looked at him, her eyes dark and deep. "Do you believe her?" she asked simply.

"No," he said vehemently. "She's a liar and a fraud."

"But do you believe her?" Lisbon persisted.

He knew what she was asking. Not whether Kristina Frye had deceived him or not. That was irrelevant. She was asking whether he believed what she had told him was, in fact, the truth. A fine distinction, but a critical one.

"No," he said wearily. "No, I don't."

Lisbon nodded, but her mouth twisted in unhappiness.

"Part of me wishes I did, though," he added quietly, his heart heavy in his chest.

Lisbon wrapped her fingers around her cross. "Would you…" She swallowed. "Do you mind if I believe? For you, I mean. That what she said is true?"

He looked at her. "All right," he said at last. What harm could it do for at least one of them to carry that hope? He watched the line between her brows smooth out as her face relaxed infinitesimally in relief at the tacit acceptance of her faith in this instance. If between the two of them, they had one allotment of hope and faith, he was glad it was apportioned to her. She bore it so much better than he ever could. And… he found he liked the idea of Lisbon carrying this possibility as truth. If she believed it, in one plane of their shared universe, it _would_ be true. He inhaled sharply. It was better than nothing. Besides, Lisbon was stronger than him. Maybe her part of the universe would win out over his, eventually.

Maybe someday he could believe, too.

"I'm sorry she upset you," Lisbon said quietly.

"I told you, she didn't upset me," he said automatically.

"Right," she said again, letting the blatant falsehood pass. "Of course."

He cut his eyes away from her. "It's just…been a long day."

She nudged him with her elbow. "Do you want me to make you some tea?"

He didn't want tea. He wanted her to go away. Her sympathy made everything feel more real. It made everything feel _more_. He didn't want to feel. He just wanted it to stop. "No, Lisbon."

"Okay," she said quietly.

He glanced over at her. "It was nice of you to offer, though."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll leave you alone," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder gently. He experienced a moment of insanity where he desperately wanted to turn into her and bury his face in her shirt. It seemed an excellent place to hide himself from the world. If he lost his senses and yielded to this impulse, would she lose hers and let her hand drift to stroke the curls at the back of his neck in a gesture of exquisite comfort? The thought was torturously tempting.

She let her hand slip from his shoulder and the moment passed.

Jane recalled himself. "The illustrious Ms. Frye did tell you that you would have your hands full with me, didn't she?" he said without humor.

She gave him a wry smile. "Well, she was certainly right about that, at least, wasn't she?"

"So it would seem," he agreed. Poor Lisbon. How long would she be cursed with that particular burden, he wondered.

She didn't seem to mind it, though. "I'll see you later," she said gently.

"See you," he echoed.

She left. He stared into space a few minutes more, then decided he truly was being a fool. He should never have let Kristina Frye interrupt his nap. He went back to his couch.

A cup of tea was waiting for him on the corner of the desk nearest his couch, a thread of steam curling up from its surface. Lisbon. Determined to take care of him, whether he wanted her to or not.

He didn't think he'd ever had a cup of tea made by Lisbon before. Curious, he picked it up and took a sip. He grimaced.

It was the worst cup of tea he'd ever tasted. She had put milk into green tea. Honestly. Also, she had over-steeped it. He was really going to have to take her tea education in hand one of these days. He curled his fingers around the steaming mug. Still, the heat of it seared his throat and warmed his chest from the inside out.

He drank it all down.


	8. 1x08: The Thin Red Line

A/N: My sister had a baby recently, and apparently hanging out with him has turned me a bit baby crazy because, well... this happened. Nudging the outer reaches of fluffiness on this one, at least for something that's supposed to be compatible with canon. Hope you enjoy, in any case!

xxx

After the case was closed, Jane found Lisbon in her office, frowning at her paperwork.

"Why so grumpy?" he asked, impulsively deciding to perch on the corner of her desk rather than take his usual spot on her couch. "We solved the case. I thought that was the sure-fire recipe for Lisbon happiness."

"I'm not grumpy," she protested, but the corners of her mouth turned down.

He looked into her eyes. "You're sad." The notion caused an uncomfortable pang in his chest. That was his job. He didn't want her to be sad, too.

She sighed. "This case was sad."

Jane couldn't argue with that. The case _was_ sad.

"Blakely killed his own sister, thinking he was protecting his family, all because his father never told him the truth," she went on. "Now he's in jail, and the father has lost both of his children."

"There's always a reckoning," Jane agreed, thinking of all the trouble caused by that one, crucial lie.

"Yeah," she said morosely. Now she looked downright depressed.

"You know what I'm sad about?" he said, hoping to distract her from her melancholy.

She looked at him a little askance. "What's that?"

"That it wasn't Presiado who did it after all," Jane said. "I really wanted it to be him." 'A good-looking man like you,' my foot, he thought. Was that really Lisbon's type? Dark-haired, tough, and freakishly tall?

Also impotent, he reminded himself. The thought was remarkably cheering.

She smiled a little. "Yeah, it would have all worked out more neatly if it had been him, wouldn't it? At least the Blakely family would have been a little less broken at the end of the day."

"And we would have had one less blowhard to deal with at Davis PD," Jane added.

"And there would have been that," she agreed.

"Did you really think he was good looking?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"What?" she said, startled.

"Presiado," Jane clarified. "You told him he was good looking when we were questioning him."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "It's called an interrogation technique, Jane."

"So you didn't," he persisted.

Lisbon looked at him like he was crazy. "He's all right," she said cautiously. "But the guy's a complete ass, so what does it matter?"

Jane relaxed. "No matter."

"Then why did you ask?" she said, annoyed.

"Just trying to get a sense of what your type is," Jane said.

"What do you care about that?" she demanded, looking half irritated, half alarmed.

He shrugged. "If I have a keener insight into the kind of man you find attractive, I could keep an eye out for you. If I see one that I think would suit your fancy, I could send him your way." And if he saw anyone unsuitable heading in her direction, he could hypnotize him into thinking he was a squirrel.

"Oh, Lord," she exhaled. "Please, Jane, don't do me any favors."

He was starting to enjoy himself now. He waggled his eyebrows and hummed the first few bars of 'Matchmaker' from Fiddler on the Roof.

She threw her pencil at him. "Shut up."

He dodged it, chuckling. "Never mind. It's just as well you and Presiado didn't hit it off, in the end."

"Oh, yeah?" she said, humoring him. "Why is that?"

He cleared his throat. "Apparently he has a little… problem."

Her brow furrowed. "What kind of problem?"

He raised his eyebrows, then made a show of glancing meaningfully downward before raising his eyes to meet hers again.

Her jaw dropped. "Jane!" she said, scandalized. Then she started to laugh. "How the hell did you even find that out?"

He grinned, pleased that he'd gotten a laugh out of her. "I have my ways."

"I don't even want to know, do I?" she said, dimpling at him.

"Probably not," he agreed. Not that it would do any harm to tell her the source of his information, but a man had to keep some mystery about him, after all.

He got up from her desk. "Come on, I need your help with something."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Nothing illegal or even morally questionable, I assure you," Jane said. He picked up her jacket and held it out for her.

"Why is that statement not even remotely reassuring, coming from you?" she wondered aloud.

He shook her jacket a little to encourage her to get a move on. "Come along."

She sighed and stood. "Where are we going?" she asked, deigning to allow him to help her on with her jacket. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and he smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, sweeping her hair aside so it wouldn't get caught in the collar. He paused. Her hair was even softer than it looked.

Lisbon turned her head. "Jane?"

He looked back into her eyes. She was startlingly close. "Yeah?"

She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, which made him realize his fingers were still trailing through the ends of it.

A faint blush stained Lisbon's cheeks, but she covered it admirably. "Where are we going?" she repeated.

He let her hair go and put his hand at the small of her back, guiding her towards the door. "To make the Blakely family a little less broken."

Xxx

Jane fed Kaylie a Cheerio and bounced her a little on his hip, just the way she liked.

"You know," Lisbon remarked, watching the two of them. "We really don't need to do this. Social Services will take care of it."

"Meh," Jane said. "Where would the fun in that be? Besides, they'll take forever to get through all the red tape. Kaylie's had a hard enough time already without being passed through various channels of bureaucracy. She needs her family now." He returned his attention to the baby on his hip. "Don't you, Kaylie?" He made a series of silly faces at her. "Yes, you do," he said in his best nonsense voice. "That's right."

A woman from Social Services came into the room, something they called a 'visitation room,' outfitted with a couch and a small, child's size table with two chairs, littered with toys. "Mr. Jane? Agent Lisbon? My name is Marian Shipley. I'm the social worker assigned to Kaylie's case. I understand you were able to track down Kaylie's next of kin through the course of your investigation, is that correct?"

"That's right," Jane said quickly, before Lisbon could muddy the waters with the pesky technicalities comprising the exact truth. "Her grandparents. A very stable couple. The grandfather is a policeman, you know. They're very eager to take her in."

Lisbon looked at him sideways, but didn't challenge his statement.

"You've already spoken to them?" Ms. Shipley asked.

Jane avoided making eye contact with Lisbon. "That's right."

Ms. Shipley smiled at him. "That's wonderful. I'm so glad she has a good home waiting for her."

"So are we," Jane said, bouncing Kaylie a little more. "Aren't we, Lisbon?"

"That's right," Lisbon said, her expression inscrutable.

"We'll have to interview the prospective foster parents, of course," Ms. Shipley went on. "And do a home visit, to make sure Kaylie is being placed in a safe environment."

"Of course." Jane gave Lisbon a meaningful look. This was what he was talking about. Red tape. She rolled her eyes at him, but said nothing. "The thing is," Jane said, "Agent Lisbon and I were hoping we could take Kaylie over to meet her grandparents this afternoon. They're so anxious to meet her, you see. And we'd very much like to be the ones to arrange this particular family reunion, if that's all right with you." You know, since we had to arrest their son for murder earlier today, he added silently. He decided not to volunteer this information to Ms. Shipley. "Agent Lisbon would be happy to help you sort out all the paperwork later, if you'd like," he offered, rubbing Kaylie on the back.

Lisbon's jaw dropped in indignation. She shot him an annoyed glance, but again, she didn't challenge him in front of the social worker.

Ms. Shipley pursed her lips, considering the matter. "Well… it's a little unusual," she said thoughtfully. She smiled at Jane. "But I'm sure we can work something out."

Jane beamed. "Excellent."

Ms. Shipley patted Kaylie on the back. "Let me go get some of that paperwork started. Once we have the first round done, we should be able to release her into your custody for the purpose of escorting her to her new home."

"Thank you," Jane said sincerely.

Ms. Shipley smiled at him again, and took her leave.

Jane turned to Lisbon, still beaming. "Eh? What'd I tell you, Lisbon?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You haven't discussed the possibility of the Blakely's taking in Kaylie with them at all, have you?"

"Meh," he said. "What's to discuss? They're family. Of course they're going to take her in."

She sighed. "Jane, you know that's not always true—"

"It's true in this case," he insisted.

"How the hell do you know that?" she asked, exasperated. "You think just dropping this baby on their doorstep is going to suddenly make everything all better?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to drop Kaylie on their doorstep. That would be a completely barbaric thing to do," Jane said. "I am going to gently and carefully hand her over the threshold into the arms of her grandparents."

"They may not thank you for it," Lisbon warned. "Completely disrupting their lives like this."

"It doesn't matter if they thank me for it," Jane said. "As long as they take care of Kaylie."

"Why did you even need me to come along in the first place?" Lisbon huffed. "You're just going to do what you want to do anyway, no matter what I have to say about it."

"I need your aura of authority," he said. "You think Social Services is going to hand over a baby to a strange man with a laminated ID badge? You, my dear, provide a reassuring air of officialdom with that extra shiny badge of yours."

"Great," Lisbon muttered. "You make me sound like a glorified accomplice to kidnapping."

He chuckled. "Glad to see you're finally getting into the spirit of the thing." His nose detected a less than pleasant smell coming from his immediate vicinity. And since Lisbon always smelled good, there was only one possible culprit. "Uh-oh," he said. "Can you take her for a moment?"

He handed Kaylie to her without waiting for an answer and made a beeline for the door.

"Where are you going?" Lisbon said, a faint note of panic in her voice.

"To find diapers," he called back. "They've got to have some around here somewhere."

Xxx

Lisbon signed the critical paperwork while Jane changed Kaylie's diaper.

"There you go," Ms. Shipley said, handing Lisbon one copy of the last form. "She's all yours."

"Great," Jane said. He turned to Lisbon. "Shall we?"

"Not so fast," Lisbon said firmly as Ms. Shipley departed yet again. "We need a car seat for her."

"Good point," Jane mused. "I could run to the store and find one, I suppose."

Lisbon sighed and took out her phone. She dialed and held it up to her ear. "Rigsby? Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need a favor. Can you run to the impound lot and see if you can get Kaylie's car seat back from the guys in Evidence and then bring it to me and Jane at the Social Services office?" She listened. "Yeah, it's a long story. Yeah… Yeah. No, that's okay. We'll wait."

She hung up the phone and tucked the form into the pocket of her blazer. This accomplished, she cast about the room as though in search of some other task she might be able to complete while she waited for Rigsby to appear.

Jane sensed danger in the offing. Lisbon detested waiting in all forms. If he didn't find some means to distract her, she was liable to grow downright surly. He looked down at the soft, sweet-smelling bundle in his arms. He didn't want to give her up, but it was for a good cause. "Would you mind taking her again?" he asked. Again, he handed her over without waiting for an answer. "She looks hungry. I'm going to see if I can find some more Cheerios."

Lisbon took Kaylie wordlessly and settled her on her hip. Kaylie grabbed at her hair and Lisbon smiled at her, catching her fist and shaking it a little instead. Jane paused, arrested. They made quite the picture.

Lisbon looked back at him and raised her eyebrows as though to say, 'Well? What are you waiting for?'

Cheerios. Right.

Xxx

When he came back armed with a Tupperware container full of Cheerios, Lisbon was on the couch with Kaylie in her lap, playing some kind of modified version of patty cake together where Lisbon did most of the work. Lisbon smiled down at her, her expression soft and light. Jane stopped on the threshold, quite taken with this image of tough as nails Agent Lisbon in the role of nurturing caretaker.

He really shouldn't be surprised, he told himself. He'd always known Lisbon was a softie on the inside. And he had plenty of evidence of her nurturing nature from his experience of her trying to take care of him and the rest of the team. But it was somehow different to see her with a child in her arms. She was so… relaxed. Her smile so easy.

He stepped the rest of the way into the room. "You like babies," he observed.

She kept her eyes on Kaylie. "Who doesn't like babies?" she said, her voice studiously neutral.

"Lots of people," he said. "But look at you. You're a natural."

She looked up at him. "Just because I have ovaries—"

"It has nothing to do with that," he interrupted. "You're good with her, that's all."

She looked back at Kaylie. "Well—she's a sweetheart."

"Yeah," Jane said, sitting down next to them and smiling fondly at Kaylie. "She is."

Lisbon glanced at the Tupperware container in his hand. "Your mission was successful, I see."

"Yes," he agreed, opening the lid. "It was."

"Please tell me you did not con some poor mother into giving you her child's snack," Lisbon said, exasperated.

"Relax. They have a kind of supply room here that has all kinds of stuff kids might need. I expect they have it for emergencies, you know if a kid is pulled out of his home suddenly, that sort of thing."

"Right. And I'm sure you checked with someone to make sure it was okay you took stuff out of the emergency stash," she said, amused.

"Meh. Who would begrudge Kaylie an afternoon snack?" he said. He offered Kaylie a Cheerio. She graciously accepted it, then threw it enthusiastically on the floor. He retrieved the rejected Cheerio and tucked it into his vest pocket. He offered her a second one. This one, she ate.

The third Cheerio, she offered to Lisbon. Lisbon took it, then gave it back to her. Kaylie beamed at her and ate it greedily. Lisbon smiled.

Jane watched her. "You're going to be a great mom," he said suddenly. He hadn't meant to voice the thought aloud. The words bubbled up unexpectedly.

Lisbon snorted. "Yeah, right."

He frowned. "What does that mean? Of course you'll be a great mom."

"Jane, I barely have time to date these days, let alone get married and have kids."

"It's not something you schedule between budget meetings, Lisbon. It will just happen." Sooner or later, someone was bound to come along who would take one look at her and realize how extraordinary she was. Once that happened, that man would throw everything he had into dazzling her with charm and earning her affection, he was sure of it. How could he not?

"I'm just—I'm not sure marriage and babies are in the cards for me, that's all," she sighed. "Being a cop—it's not exactly the most family friendly lifestyle."

"But you do want kids, don't you?" he persisted. He couldn't stand the idea of her resigning this hope, if it was something she wanted. Her kids would be the luckiest children on the planet.

"Maybe someday," she said wistfully.

"So you work it out," he insisted. "Maybe your husband will be a stay at home dad."

"Right," she said, humoring him. "Because guys like that are so easy to find."

"I didn't say it would be easy," he demurred. "All I'm saying is, if the chance of raising a family with you was at stake, I'm sure your husband would be willing to do a great deal to make sure you had what you needed to make it work. Any man who aspired to be worthy of you would go to great lengths to support your career, if that was what you wanted."

She looked over at him, her lips parting softly in surprise. "Thanks, Jane," she said, touched.

Kaylie interjected her opinion on the matter by throwing a Cheerio at his head.

Jane came back to his senses a little. "Anyway, you never know," he said, clearing his throat. He returned the Cheerio to Kaylie. "The right guy might be just around the corner."

Lisbon rubbed a soothing circle on Kaylie's back. "Ya think?" she said lightly.

"Sure," he said, straight-faced. "Maybe Presiado has a brother."

She reached over with the arm not holding Kaylie and punched him on the arm.

"Teresa, please," he said, making a show of rubbing the injured appendage. "Not in front of the child."

"Oh, suck it up, you big baby," she told him.

He grinned at her. Her own mouth curved upwards as she looked back at him.

A light tap on the door frame interrupted the moment. They looked up. "Uh," said Rigsby, staring at them. He hefted the burden in his right hand. "I brought the car seat."

"Thanks, Rigs," Lisbon said. "Set it down by the door, will you? We'll grab it on our way out."

Rigsby continued to stare at them as he set down the car seat. "Sure. No problem."

Lisbon frowned. "What it is it?"

Rigsby looked at the two of them sitting together on the couch, a child between them. "Nothing. Nothing at all."


	9. 1x09: Flame Red

A/N: A couple people have asked me about Beyond Measure lately - I am still working on it, just moving slowly. I will probably not be posting for that fic for a while, but rest assured I have no intention of abandoning it.

xxx

It was deeply unfortunate that Lisbon had such a traditional mindset when it came to the topic of revenge, Jane reflected as the two of them sped down the highway towards a bank of dark clouds.

He really shouldn't have been surprised. Lisbon lived by a code, he knew that. A high moral code grounded in principles of fairness and justice. One uncompromised by personal opinions and selfish desires. He admired that about her, actually.

Still, it was bound to prove very inconvenient for him in his quest to kill Red John.

She'd meant it when she'd told him she would arrest him if he managed to kill the bastard. Jane could tell. She'd meant every word. Which meant she would not only arrest him if he killed Red John, but even if he just managed hurt him. Apparently, Lisbon would happily lock him up and throw away the key if he managed to give Red John so much as a paper cut.

Okay, so maybe not happily. She would probably not enjoy arresting a member of her own team, after all. And she was rather fond of him. At least, Jane liked to think so. He was pretty sure, anyway. He could be rather charming when he wanted to be. As much as she liked to pretend otherwise, even no-nonsense Lisbon wasn't entirely immune. He made her smile. True, he caused her a lot of headaches at work, but she tolerated him better than most people in her position would. And she was protective of him, just like the other members of her team.

He thought about her driving several miles out of their way to the only organic grocery store in town to pick up a particular brand of smoothie for Rigsby after the poor guy had jumped through that window to save Piller and caught his arm on fire for his trouble. Then briskly informing Rigsby she'd brought him 'some of that mango crap' he liked. That was so like her. Always taking care of her people and pretending she didn't care half as much as she really did. She might have fooled some people with that brusque demeanor, but not Jane. As hard as she tried to hide it, her acts of kindness betrayed her compassionate nature every time.

Jane looked over at her, calm and composed at the wheel while he pondered their situation in the passenger seat.

This was a critical conflict, he recognized. He wanted Red John dead and she didn't. Simple enough, on the surface of things.

Only it wasn't. Not really. Because he knew if he succeeded in killing Red John, at least some part of Lisbon would feel betrayed. Moreover, she would be disappointed in him. She'd also more than likely consider her inability to stop him a personal failure and spend an unreasonable period of time castigating herself for allowing herself to be fooled by him. He thought of her green eyes full of surprise and betrayal. Thought of her turning away from him in disgust. A corner of his heart ached at the thought of her thinking of his time in her life with true bitterness. He didn't want that kind of pain for her.

There was no point thinking about what would happen if she somehow succeeded in capturing Red John and arresting him before Jane could get to him. Should such an unlikely event come to pass, he would simply find a way to break into Red John's prison cell and kill him there. Lisbon likely _would_ have to arrest him to prevent from killing that son of a bitch in the course of her capture in the first place, so Jane might be delayed in this effort by virtue of being in prison himself. If that happened, he would break out of jail, then break into wherever Red John was being held to finish the job. If they were in the same prison, it would be even easier.

Which led him back to the crux of the problem. The possibility of him losing this battle of wills was not an issue. He was going to kill Red John, or die trying. The issue was that sooner or later, in some capacity or another, Lisbon would inevitably be hurt by the way things turned out.

No, even that wasn't quite right. The real issue was that he already felt some pangs of regret at the idea of what his vengeance would ultimately do to Lisbon. Those sorts of feelings could lead to a far more dangerous conflict. If he was worrying about someone else's feelings, that could lead to hesitation. Hesitation at a crucial moment could lead to failure. He couldn't afford to consider Lisbon's feelings. He was not going to fail. Not in this.

If it were anyone else, this wouldn't be a problem. If it were some run of the mill bureaucrat who was in charge of the Serious Crimes Unit, Jane wouldn't bat an eye at the idea of lying through his teeth day in and day out to get what he wanted. But Lisbon was different. She was kind and caring. Smarter than most of her superiors gave her credit for. He liked her.

He didn't like the idea of her being hurt. He hated the idea of being the one to do it.

He thought about the previous morning, teasing Lisbon about having the key to all her innermost thoughts and eliciting that delightful blush from her. Sometimes he wished he really could read Lisbon's mind. He bet it was a fascinating place.

No, he realized. That would make things worse. More intimate knowledge of her thoughts could only be a disadvantage for him. He already knew the essentials of her character—learning more would only deepen his understanding of her perspective. Deeper understanding would naturally increase his sympathy towards her. Sympathy, as he'd just concluded, could very well undermine his commitment to everything he'd been working towards. No, understanding was not a desirable outcome. It was a threat to his vengeance, his entire purpose in life.

Time was his enemy, too. The longer he went without killing Red John, the longer he would be working in close quarters with Lisbon. The more of her smiles he would see, the more impatient eye rolls, the more acts of kindness. Some level of that dreaded understanding would come with time, whether he liked it or not.

He would just have to kill Red John quickly, that was all there was to it. Before he and Lisbon grew any closer than they had somehow inadvertently become.

A smattering of raindrops against the windshield roused him from his thoughts. "It's raining," he observed, wanting to distract himself. Nothing like a little mundane small talk to take one's mind from thoughts of murder and betrayal.

"Yep," Lisbon said, unperturbed. She flipped on the wiper blades. "Good news for the people in Marquesa."

"How so?" Jane asked.

Lisbon shrugged. "It's good for the crops."

Right. Of course.

Jane observed Lisbon as she drove deeper into the bank of clouds. The rain hit the windshield harder. Lisbon, however, seemed just as relaxed at the wheel as before. She slowed down a little, in deference to the slippery conditions, but she didn't appear tense or worried by the prospect of driving in the rain.

Rigsby, Jane knew, would have complained loudly about the inconvenience of driving in the rain. He would have grumbled about the decreased visibility and the annoyance of having to deal with traffic slowed down by the rain. Grace wouldn't complain, but if she'd been driving, her shoulders would hunch up over the wheel and if asked, she would admit she didn't particularly enjoy driving in the rain. Cho, of course, would betray nothing verbally, but his knuckles would have whitened ever so slightly at the wheel as an indication of his heightened attention to the condition of the roads.

Not Lisbon, though. She drove quietly, steadily on.

"You like the rain," Jane commented, watching her.

Lisbon tensed. Rain didn't bother her, but Jane's incessant prodding at her personal thoughts and opinions always left her distinctly unsettled. "What makes you say that?" she deflected.

"It's obvious," Jane informed her. "Unlike our esteemed colleagues, you clearly enjoy being out in the rain."

Lisbon hesitated. "What of it?" she said at last, a tad defensively.

Oh, sure. Throw her into a raging storm and Teresa Lisbon would smoothly and efficiently move through it, doing whatever needed to be done, but toss out one tiny personal observation and the woman's fight or flight instincts instantly went into overdrive. "Nothing," Jane said lightly. "Just an observation. It's always refreshing to find a fellow rain lover."

Lisbon glanced at him. "You like the rain?"

"Sure," Jane said. "It's rather beautiful, don't you think? There's something peaceful about it. Everything's quieter, more still. I mean, even criminals are less likely to get up to mischief when it's raining. They're more likely to defer their mischief to a time when it won't get them so soggy."

Lisbon snorted at this. "You're one to talk. Somehow I can't see you deferring any mischief you planned to make for a little thing like the weather."

Jane grinned. "Well, of course not. Truly accomplished mischief-makers exploit every opportunity provided to them, including the vagaries of the elements."

The corner of Lisbon's mouth turned upwards. "True."

"Ah, I see," Jane said, light dawning. "It's all becoming clear now."

She raised her eyebrows. "What's becoming clear?"

He pointed a finger at her. "You, my dear, are just as familiar with the joys of making mischief in the rain as I am. There's no denying it now."

She tried to hide the truth behind a bland expression, but the decidedly mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jane grinned. "Come now, confess. What do you like about the rain?"

She glanced over at him, then gave in. "Well, I do think it can be beautiful, like you said. And I don't know, there's something liberating about being outside when everyone else is huddled up inside trying to stay out of the rain."

"Hm. So you've always liked being out in the rain when everyone else was curled up over their hot chocolate, huh?"

"Pretty much," she confirmed.

His grin widened. "You were a puddle-jumper, weren't you?"

"A puddle-jumper?" she repeated, amused.

"When you were little," he clarified. "You liked to jump in puddles. I bet whenever it rained you jumped in all the deepest puddles you could find, making the biggest, baddest splashes you could manage."

She shook her head, smiling. "You got me. I used to love playing in the rain."

"And did your mother scold you, when you came back inside, soaked to the bone and covered in mud?" Jane asked, charmed at this image of a miniature Teresa dripping on the kitchen floor with bright eyes and a brilliant dimpled smile.

"No," she said, her smile wistful. "She jumped in the puddles with me."

Of course she had. Jane's own smile dimmed, thinking of the terrible loss Lisbon had suffered. "I see."

She glanced over at him again. "It was fun. I wouldn't trade those moments for anything."

How was it possible that she was trying to make him feel better, he wondered, when he was the one who'd inadvertently caused them to stumble into a potentially painful memory from her past? "Yeah?" he said hopefully.

"Not a single one," she confirmed.

He exhaled. "I'm glad."

She checked the mileage indicator on the dashboard. "We're not far now. Should be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Good," Jane said absently. "That's good."

"Yeah, I'm glad we'll be able to give Maddy and Mrs. Garcia some closure on all this," Lisbon said.

"Yes," he agreed. "Although I'm not sure how useful Maddy will find an apology from the man who burned her father to a crisp."

"Why do you think it was so important to Tommy Olds that we tell Maddy that he was sorry for hurting her?" Lisbon wondered aloud. "I mean, he didn't seem particularly remorseful about killing her dad in one of the most painful ways imaginable."

"He felt he had to kill Garcia as a point of honor. Just because he succeeded in what he set out to do doesn't mean he doesn't regret causing her pain," Jane said.

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't buy that. If her welfare mattered to him at all, he should have considered what his actions would do to her. The fact that he went ahead with his plan anyway just means that he didn't care that much about her in the first place."

Jane shifted uncomfortably. "Don't you think it's possible that someone can want two things at that conflict with each other at the same time?"

She glanced at him, startled by the hint of desperation in his tone. "I suppose," she allowed. "All the same, at some point, he made a decision that one was more important than the other."

"Yeah," Jane said miserably. This conversation was depressing him.

"I still can't believe it was him," Lisbon mused. "All that time. I mean, can you imagine hiding yourself so completely?"

Yes. Unfortunately, he could imagine it all too easily. "It wouldn't be so hard. You'd be surprised at how easy it is to fool people into seeing what you want them to see rather than what's really there."

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't believe that. If anyone had looked past the surface, they would have discovered the truth. His disguise only worked because nobody was looking."

Jane looked out the window. "That's what made it a brilliant disguise. He made sure nobody cared enough to look deeper."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Lisbon argued. "He immersed himself in that lie. Completely isolated himself from everyone around him. Don't you think he ever got lonely?"

"No," Jane said. "He's a sociopath who gets his kicks by setting people on fire. He isn't capable of feeling loneliness." The lucky bastard.

"Still," Lisbon said stubbornly. "If he'd had even one real friend, his whole lie would have fallen apart."

Now that was a distressing observation. Jane paused to consider the ramifications of this statement. He enjoyed teasing Lisbon, poking into her business when she least wanted him to. Enjoyed making her smile. He'd thought he was ensuring that the observations and information to be gleaned from these interactions had been safely channeled in one direction, but wasn't his enjoyment of these conversations evidence enough for Lisbon to draw her own conclusions about what instincts drove him? About what interested and motivated him? To tell her, little by little, the secrets of his heart? Her influence over him was already too great without adding more knowledge about the inner workings of his mind to her arsenal. He didn't want to hand her any more weapons that could potentially undermine his revenge. He frowned to himself. Had he already left himself dangerously exposed to her?

He shook off the thought. "Well, in any case, he's reaping what he sowed." His voice was harder than he'd intended. He and Tommy both knew the costs of revenge. Tommy, at least, had demonstrated that he was prepared to pay them.

"I suppose," Lisbon sighed. "I just hope some good can come of this mess and at least Maddy and Mrs. Garcia can be reconciled once they know the truth."

They would be, if he had anything to say about it. "No matter how much they've hurt each other, they still love each other. That's something."

"You're right," Lisbon agreed. "That will carry them a long way."

"But will it be enough?" Jane wondered, his mind drifting from the rift between the Garcia women. "All that hurt… It's a lot to overcome."

"I think it will be," Lisbon said. "Sometimes people can surprise you in good ways, too, you know. I think Maddy and Mrs. Garcia will be all right, in the end."

Jane looked over at her. "How can you be so sure? With all the bad things you've seen people do to each other in your life, how can you be so optimistic that things will work out in the end?"

She tilted her head to the side without taking her eyes off the road. "I don't know. I guess sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, you know? You take the moments as they come and hope that things will turn out for the best in the end. Just…close your eyes and jump."

He smiled a little. "And if you land in a puddle and your feet get a little wet in the process?"

"Totally worth it," she said firmly.

He considered this. "Take the moments as they come, eh?"

"That's all any of us can do, isn't it?" she said lightly.

She had a point. "You're a wise woman, Lisbon. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

She smacked him lightly in the arm, as though she thought he was making fun of her, but it was true. It was good advice. He would try to keep it in mind.

Xxx

"Sorry?" Maddy said incredulously when Lisbon and Jane delivered Tommy's message. "He's sorry? You tell him if he ever gets out of jail, I'm going to set him on fire and see how he likes it."

A perfectly reasonable reaction, Jane thought.

Still, Maddy was a sweet girl. He didn't want her to be set on the same lonely, twisted path that he and Tommy had chosen to follow. She would be far better off if the cycle of vengeance stopped here. He looked her in the eye. "Revenge is a poison," he told her gravely. "Revenge is for fools and for mad men." Both true statements, as far as they went. He'd already drunk from the poisoned cup, though, so it was too late for him. As for fools and mad men…he wasn't entirely sure which category he fell into. Perhaps a little of both. He saw Lisbon watching him out of the corner of his eye. He ignored her and focused on Maddy.

He succeeded in coaxing Maddy down the stairs and convincing her to give her mother a hug. Sometimes a little physical contact could have a surprisingly healing effect. This accomplished, he breathed out through his nose. "Good…Now, hold that pose until we leave. It will help Lisbon and me feel like we've actually made a difference."

With that, he placed his hand at the small of Lisbon's back and they both hurried out the door, pleased at the notion of leaving a case on a positive note for once. They both wanted to hold onto the hopeful image of the mother and daughter's embrace.

Once outside, they paused on the porch. The smattering of rain had turned into a genuine downpour. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Lisbon rocked on her heels, looking entirely too pleased. "So?"

"So," he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Seems like this whole thing changed your mind about vengeance," she said.

He turned to look at her. Oh, Lisbon. If only it were that easy. "Has it?"

"Revenge is for fools and mad men?" she quoted back to him.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "It was rather good, I thought. Total nonsense, but quite good nonetheless."

She gave him an odd little half smile, as though she wasn't quite sure what to make of this statement. As though she weren't quite ready to give up the hope that he might still give it up some day. That he might still let go of that poisonous chain before it destroyed everything in his life still worth living for.

Fools and mad men, indeed, he thought to himself. He looked out into the rain. She'd sounded way too happy at the prospect of him letting go of his revenge. She shouldn't be getting invested in the idea that he could be redeemed. She shouldn't get invested in him at all. It wasn't safe for her. It wasn't fair.

He thought about what she'd said earlier. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, she'd told him. Take each moment as it comes and hope, however that however improbable it might seem, that things would ultimately work themselves out for the best.

He breathed in the cool damp air. Take each moment as it comes, he reminded himself. He spied a particularly promising looking puddle at the bottom of the porch steps. He looked over at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Shall we?"

She nodded, game, as ever, for whatever came next.

He looked out at the rain again. Sure, some might say that throwing yourself headlong into a thunderstorm might not be the smartest move, but what did they know? The people who stayed huddled indoors on a day like this might stay comfortably warm and dry, but they would also never appreciate the satisfying splash of jumping into a particularly deep puddle. They'd never know the refreshing sensation of cold drops of water hitting their upturned face or the taste of raindrops falling fresh from the sky. They'd never know the simple pleasure of holding hands with someone you cared for in the rain.

Take each moment as it comes, he repeated to himself.

He took her hand and jumped.


	10. 1x10: Red Brick and Ivy

Sophie Miller. Approximately the last person on the planet he would have expected to hear from. And she needed his help. He'd thought his debt was too great to ever have a hope of clearing it from his accounts, but here was an unlooked for opportunity to repay it, out of the blue. He told her he would do everything he could.

Lisbon had been good about it. She'd gone with him to the university when he'd asked. She stood her ground against the local PD on his behalf when they took one look at Sophie's history with the victim and wanted to throw away the key. And she hadn't given him away to Minelli when he harangued her about taking the case in the first place.

He stopped by her office to thank her, but she didn't respond.

She stood in the corner, her body turned away from him, her head bent studiously over a file he was sure she wasn't reading. Uh-oh. Minelli must have come down hard on her.

"Lisbon?" he prompted her, a little worried by her standoffish posture.

She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "Tell me the truth."

Not his favorite mode, but hey, he owed her. He watched the green eyes warily and attempted to cool the fire with a little humor. "Truth. Darth Vader? Luke's father."

She slammed the file drawer closed. "Seriously, I've stuck my stupid neck for you for the umpteenth time. I think I deserve the truth."

He assessed her expression, her stance. He'd worked with Lisbon a long time. Seen her standing over a dead body at four in the morning, seen her late at night, poring over her files. He knew her very, very well. Better perhaps, than anyone on the planet. She'd take exception to such a claim, but that was beside the point. The point was, he knew exactly how far he could push her before she would snap. Unless he was very much mistaken, he was rapidly approaching the border of her limits. If he didn't reverse course immediately, it was more than likely he'd pass the point of no return. And as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he really didn't want to know what it was like on that side of the line, because that would mean Lisbon would no longer be by his side in this long, horrible journey, and he'd recently started to fear that he really couldn't do this without her.

He closed the door.

He told her the truth. "She was my psychiatrist."

Lisbon's brow furrowed. "But you hate psychiatrists. Or so you always say."

He fidgeted. "She was a good psychiatrist."

Lisbon looked as though she couldn't quite believe her ears. "She must have been, if she managed to keep you in the room."

"It was a locked room."

He saw a glimmer of the truth dawn in her eyes. "Oh," she said quietly.

"I went through a rough patch." Understatement of the century. "Sophie helped me through that time."

Lisbon's gaze pierced him straight through, holding him captive. They looked even greener than usual. "It's not on your record."

He fidgeted again. "No. Believe me, it's not easy to do." Before he knew what was happening, he found himself stepping closer to her, confessing his feeling of shame about his whole stay in that dreadful place. He hadn't meant to tell her that. It was her eyes, he thought confusedly. They had some kind of power over him.

He held his breath, waiting for her reaction, but she just looked at him, her gaze clear and deep, as though she could see straight inside him, into his deepest self.

He wanted to turn away, to childishly insist that she stop looking at him. He didn't want her to see. He didn't want that piercing gaze to penetrate the barriers he'd so carefully constructed between himself and the rest of the world. If she could see who he really was, she'd turn away in disgust. He'd done a creditable job of fooling her, hiding behind his magician's cloak, only affording her the occasional glimpse of his true nature. Until now, it seemed.

She didn't look away. Her eyes were bottomless wells of compassion. "Thank you for being so honest with me." Like that was all she expected of him.

He wanted to walk it back, to turn it into a joke again somehow. To escape the hold of that fathomless gaze. But he didn't look away either, and the words that spilled out instead were, "I'm sorry I kept it from you."

Her eyes didn't leave his. For once, he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He could tell what she _wasn't_ thinking, though. Her eyes held no pity, he noted with relief. That would have been unbearable. No, she looked… unhappy. Not unhappy that she had a cracked up consultant. No, she was unhappy _for_ him. That he'd suffered such a devastating loss that it had broken his mind.

Van Pelt's knock was a welcome interruption. Only when Lisbon broke the gaze to respond to Van Pelt's question could he break free of its hold. He exhaled and looked away.

They went back to the university. Lisbon betrayed no sign of having learned something earth-shattering about his past. She smirked at his joke about the good and evil machine making them all safe from monkey attacks. Tactfully excused herself to wait in the car when Sophie approached him after their interview with Stutzer. She dealt with the widow with her usual grace and compassion, then mocked him for his advice to the widow to fight against her weakness for controlling men. Smacked him on the chest and told him not to patronize her when he explained his theory about Nelson, Carrie Sheehan, and hair dye. It was really quite disturbing how relieved he felt to be smacked on the chest and scolded by his tiny raven-haired spitfire. Er. Not that she was his, of course. Just a manner of speaking.

After the case was closed, Jane, Sophie, and Lisbon walked outside together into the bright afternoon sunlight. Jane glanced at Sophie. She looked back at him. Lisbon looked between them and said lightly, "I'll go wait in the car again."

His eyes followed her. She really was enjoyable to look at, when she wasn't looking at you with that terrifying all-seeing gaze. He paused and had to admit to himself that in fact, she was pretty enjoyable to look at then, too.

"So," Sophie said, interrupting his train of thought. "You want to chat for a few minutes before you take off?"

"Sure," he said absently, tearing his eyes away from Lisbon with difficulty. "That sounds good."

"What's with you and her, anyway?" Sophie asked, nodding in the direction of Lisbon's retreating figure.

Jane blinked. "What? Nothing."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Okay, not nothing," Jane amended. "She's my friend. Why do you ask?"

She looked at him appraisingly. "You like her," she stated.

"Of course I like her," Jane said, irritated. "She's a good and kind person. What's not to like?"

"Mm-hm," Sophie said, looking amused. "You sure that's all it is?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure," Jane said grumpily.

"You stand very close to her," Sophie observed.

He stared at her. "What?"

"People in our culture only stand that close to each other when there's a certain level of emotional intimacy and desire between them." She pointed at him. "You taught me that."

He shook his head. "Trust me, you're way off base." He felt a twinge of unease, though. He'd never thought about it before, but he _did_ stand rather close to Lisbon an awful lot of the time. But that didn't mean anything. He just liked the way she smelled, that's all. It was comforting. And he liked looking at her freckles when people around them were talking about boring case stuff he didn't care about.

"Am I?" she said, her voice rich with skepticism. "Who's the psychiatrist around here, anyway? I know intimacy when I see it."

"Meh. Quacks, the whole lot of you."

She smirked. "There's no point in denying it, Patrick. I saw the way you look at her."

"I don't look at Lisbon in any particular way," he insisted. "I was distracted just now, thinking about a conversation we had earlier."

"Oh, yes, I could see you were very distracted," Sophie said, nodding sagely. "Just like you were distracted earlier, when you were trying to advise me to flee the country, but you were too busy watching her walk away from us to focus on the conversation right away."

"I think you need your eye prescription checked," he said in a falsely hearty voice. "Maybe get some new contact lenses."

"Hey," she said, touching his sleeve. "I'm only teasing. I'm happy for you. You deserve to find someone, after everything that happened to you."

That was the last thing he deserved, after everything that had happened. "No, I—" He stopped, and shook his head. He took a shuddering breath. "I can't."

"Why not?" she said softly.

He shook his head. "I just can't."

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll drop it." She smiled sadly. "She seems good for you, that's all."

Jane cleared his throat and feigned deafness. "Oh, look, there's a bench over there. Looks like a perfect place for a chat, don't you think?"

She shook her head and allowed him to lead her to a bench in the shade. They spoke a few minutes longer. It was nice to catch up with her. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He wished her well, kissed her on the cheek, and headed back to the car.

Lisbon watched as he approached, mischief in her eye. "Aw," she drawled, her mouth curving into a slow smile. "Jane kissed a girl."

He paused, thrown. What did that mean? Was he such an asexual being in her eyes that even a harmless little peck on the cheek was worthy of comment? He'd kissed girls before, he thought indignantly. _Lots_ of girls. Well, before he'd married Angela, of course. But still. He wasn't asexual. He'd had a child, for God's sake.

This, he realized, was exactly the wrong element of her teasing to be reacting to, given his earlier insistence to Sophie that he and Lisbon were just friends, and his own bone-deep conviction that they could never be more than that. "Well, yeah," he said, going for nonchalant and feeling fairly certain he was failing. "On the cheek."

"It still counts," Lisbon said with a teasing smile.

His eyes narrowed. "Counts as what?"

"Nothing," she said, flicking her eyes down to his mouth for the barest second. "Just saying."

He ignored this and walked around to the other side of the car, feeling strangely defeated.

He felt Lisbon's eyes on him as he got in the car and did up his seatbelt. When he looked over at her, sympathy filled her eyes and concern had turned her full mouth downward. She attempted an encouraging smile. "You want to drive?"

He paused. "That's a very sweet offer. Do I really seem so sad?"

"What?" she said defensively. "I was just asking if you wanted to drive."

"You don't like it when I drive," he pointed out. "You despise it."

"You drive way too fast." High voice. A sure sign she was concealing something.

"I drive just fast enough. You hate not being the one in control, and yet you're willing to overcome your irrational fears to cheer me up." He flashed her a brilliant smile. "That's a beautiful thing, Lisbon. Thank you. I'd love to drive."

She glowered at him, then turned her attention to the road and fired up the engine. "Never mind."

He hid a grin as she pulled away from the curb. That was his Lisbon. Always ready with a kind gesture, but skittish the moment anyone tried to recognize her generous nature.

He thought about his confession to her, and the compassion in her eyes when he'd revealed the broken mess beneath the magician's cloak. A look that, now he considered the matter, wasn't unfamiliar to him. He'd seen it before, on multiple occasions. Perhaps he hadn't done such a good job of fooling her after all. He sat back in his seat and relaxed, feeling unexpectedly content.

She'd seen him. And she hadn't turned away.


	11. 1x11: Red John's Friends

A/N: Hello, Mentalist friends! Finally managed to get this typed up and edited. This episode was so full of great J/L moments it was hard to add to it, but hope this attempt will suffice. Let me know what you think. In other news, I passed a major milestone in Beyond Measure this week... I'm finally closing in on that monster. Still a little ways to go, but the finish line is in sight. For those of you following that story, thank you for your incredible patience waiting for the updates. In the meantime, here's a little something to tide you over. :)

xxx

After the meeting with Minnelli, Lisbon followed Jane out into the bullpen. "Jane. I know better than to try to stop you from doing what you think you have to do."

"No, I'm fine with it," Jane said nonchalantly, putting on his jacket. He kept his voice neutral. "I can see Minelli's point. I can't be chasing every nut bag with a good story, can I?"

"Yeah," Lisbon said sarcastically. "Sure. You're fine with it. Just—do me the favor of listening to me for a minute, so I can say I told you so later."

Jane couldn't help smiling. "Sure." She was so endearing when she was lecturing him for his own good.

Lisbon went on to list several very compelling facts indicating Jared Renfrew did, in fact, kill Undine Kopecki.

Jane raised his eyebrows. "What's your point?"

"He's guilty." She fixed him with a look. "You're being conned."

"Possible," he acknowledged. "But I don't think so, and I gotta find out, one way or another."

"Even if he's telling the truth about the murder, he could still be lying about Red John," she warned.

Another excellent point, but he'd already considered that. "Also possible," he acknowledged. "But I gotta take the chance. What else can I do?"

She blocked his progress to the elevator. "Minelli wants me to keep a watch on you."

He smirked, imagining an eye-rolling Lisbon being forced to tag along with him to protect the powers of bureaucracy. "What are you gonna do?"

"I'm not going to follow you around," Lisbon said disdainfully.

Too bad. It could have been fun, having Lisbon skulk around corners trying to keep an eye out for him. He could have turned around and winked at her when he sussed out her hiding spot and she could have rolled her eyes at him and glared. Having a few Lisbon glares to look forward to would have made the whole endeavor infinitely more enjoyable.

"Let's compromise," Lisbon said reasonably. "When you get into trouble, call me first so I can try to minimize the damage."

She was really getting to know him entirely too well. Still, it wasn't much to ask. "Deal."

Xxx

He made good on his bargain. He called her on his way out of the Renfrew estate to let her know about his little run in with Jared's brother. Honestly. Calling the cops on him just because he'd finagled his way onto the property under false pretenses. What a ninny.

She met him in the hallway outside Minelli's office where he'd been summoned for his obligatory dressing down from the boss man.

"You find anything?" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth as she squared her shoulders and prepared to face the proverbial music with him.

"Yes. Something," he murmured.

She glanced at him. "Enough?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "But it's a start."

"Jane! Lisbon!" Minelli bellowed from inside his office. "Stop lurking in the hallway and get your asses in here."

"Play nice," Lisbon muttered. "I can only protect you so far in there."

Minnelli was in fine form. Jane had never seen him so worked up. He puffed himself up and blustered about the attorney general and various other people Jane had never met and didn't care about. Lisbon leaned on the filing cabinet against the window and looked unhappy.

When Jane interrupted Minelli's diatribe to mention his conviction that Jared was innocent, Minelli threw up his hands. Jane had never seen anyone actually do that before.

"Wake up, Dorothy!" Minelli said, exasperated. "You aren't in Kansas anymore."

As a point of curiosity, Jane leaned forward and asked, "If I'm Dorothy, who are you?"

Minelli was clearly nearing the end of his patience. "Okay, here it is," he said after one further exchange. "If you pursue this further, I'm going to have to throw you out of the CBI. We can't take the liability." He sat back. "I very much do not want to have to do that."

Oh, Virgil. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to bluff? Jane thought. You don't telegraph your reluctance to your opponent like that.

It was obvious Minelli had no interest in firing him. He just wanted the heat from the higher ups to go away. Fortunately, there was a simple solution for this. Jane stood up.

Affecting a defeated attitude, Jane hung his head. "I know you don't." He took out his CBI badge. "I'll spare you the trouble." He set the badge down on Minelli's desk. "I quit."

Lisbon, who had been focused on Jane and didn't realize this was all a big charade to let the bigwigs save face, looked like someone had just killed her dog. She stepped towards him. "Don't do that."

"No, it's okay," Jane assured her. "It's best this way." Poor Lisbon. She looked genuinely upset about the notion of him leaving. He was touched. He looked into her lovely green eyes. "You are the good witch Glinda," he said with a smile. "Obviously." Beautiful, wise, and caring.

He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you," he said sincerely. Lisbon wasn't part of this play-acted drama. She'd come in here to stick her neck out for him. She deserved the truth. "I learned a lot." He had learned about good, honest people working for the safety and well-being of others. He'd learned about leadership with integrity. Well, not that he would ever engage in such a thing, but thanks to her, he now knew it was possible.

He wished she didn't have to worry, though. Minelli would take him back, once he came up with proof of a connection between Jared Renfrew and Red John and Gardiner's buddies at City Hall had time to settle down. He'd be back, making her life difficult before she knew it. With this cheerful thought in mind, he took his leave.

Xxx

His beautifully staged exit lost some of its luster, unfortunately, when he followed his lead to Undine Kopecki's mother's place, only to find out she'd moved. This was a blow. He'd be able to track her down, of course, eventually, but this event forced him into an awareness of just how much he'd come to take Lisbon and her team for granted. Normally if he ran into a roadblock like this, he would have called Van Pelt. She would have expended a few moments of her computer wizardry and presto! He would have had the new address in hand and been on his merry way in a matter of moments.

A prickly, uncomfortable feeling tingled at the back of his neck. It took him a while to figure out the significance of that sensation—he missed Lisbon. He'd gotten used to having her around to bounce ideas off of and to watch out for him. Though he often abandoned her at crime scenes to follow his own pursuits, he'd grown accustomed to the reassuring knowledge that she was never more than a phone call away if he needed her.

He sat down on the derelict stoop of Mrs. Kopecki's former residence and pondered his dilemma.

He was sure he could prove Jared's innocence, given enough time, but what if Red John somehow caught wind of what he was doing before he finished and decided to kill Jared in the meantime? Or decided to kill both Jane and Jared and have done with it all together? Not that Jane particularly cared about dying, but if he were going to die, he wanted to take Red John down with him. He'd always imagined the final confrontation to be just the two of them, alone, but somehow in the back of his mind he'd formed the assumption that up until that final moment, the team would support him along the way. That they would help him get to a place where a confrontation was even possible.

Besides, even if he found proof of Jared's innocence, what was he going to do then? Walk into the local police station proclaiming he'd cracked a case every member of the California justice department believed to have been closed over year ago? It would take forever to get Jared released that way, and every obstacle and delay would exponentially increase the likelihood that Red John would find out about it and make a play for Jared before he could give Jane any useful information.

Lisbon would know exactly which forms to file, which judges to talk to. She would know how to arrange for Jared's safe release and protection.

He thought about that horrible night, coming home and finding that note taped to his bedroom door. Was it possible he had inadvertently sacrificed his best chance of revenge through his ill-considered exit from the CBI and his casual assurance he could manage the restoration of justice entirely on his own?

His phone rang. Lisbon. He tried to contain the hope that flared up at the sight of her name on the display, but he was relieved. The fact that she hadn't thrown him over entirely had to be a good sign.

"How are you doing?" She asked when he picked up. "Everything going okay?"

He faltered. "Oh—yeah. Fine. Uh—just…out. Investigating stuff."

"Well, get your ass back here and do your investigating with the rest of us where you belong."

"Uh, sure," Jane said, trying not to sound pathetically grateful.

"Bring pizza. We're hungry and you're buying."

"Yeah," he croaked. It was a ridiculously small price to pay. "Uh—pepperoni or plain?"

"Rigsby's here. Get both."

That was reasonable. "Okay."

The significance of this phone call was not lost on him. She'd stuck her neck out for him again. Even when she'd had every reason to believe he'd walked out on her for good.

"Hey, Lisbon?"

"What?"

The words stuck in his throat. "Thank you."

Xxx

"Thanks for doing this," Jane said to Rigsby when he met him downstairs with the pizza. "What did Lisbon have to do to clear this with Minelli?" He'd figured out fairly quickly she must have been the one to persuade Minelli to let him back in the building.

"Get suspended," Rigsby said cheerfully, taking the pizza from him and looking under each lid.

James stopped. "Really." He'd known it would have had to be something big, but not this big. Lisbon's job meant so much to her. For her to put herself on line for him was…he didn't have the words for what it was, but whatever it was, it felt hugely important.

"Yeah. You shoulda seen her. Minelli threatened to suspend her if she did anything else on the case, then she said he might as well go ahead and suspend her right then, because you need our help and she had no intention of laying off because some fat cats were putting on the pressure," Rigsby said proudly.

Jane really wished he could have seen that.

"So then the rest of us said he'd have to suspend us, too," Rigsby continued.

Jane was touched by this evidence of the team's loyalty. "And Minelli backed down?"

"No, he said we were all suspended, too."

Jane paused. "Yet we're all here."

"Minelli decided he needed to go out of town for a family emergency," Rigsby said with a reasonably straight face. "He didn't have time to file the suspension paperwork before he left."

Jane chuckled. "Good old Minelli. He was in on it, too, eh?"

"As long as we don't contact him or let him know what we're doing in any way," Rigsby confirmed.

"How long do we have?" Jane asked, knowing such an arrangement couldn't last long.

"A week."

Jane eyed the pizza. "Good thing we have all of this brain food, then. We're gonna need it."

Xxx

Jane was in high spirits that evening. Having the team back on his side bolstered his confidence significantly. They would track down Mrs. Kopecki and she would lead them to the evidence they needed to set Jared free. And then Red John himself confirmed that Jared actually had information about his identity worth having. All they had to do was get Jared out of jail and Red John would come for him.

"Jane," Lisbon warned, catching the glint of malicious glee in his eye. "Be careful."

He brushed off the warning. It was finally happening, after all this time. He was going to catch Red John and make him pay for what he'd done to his beautiful wife and child. They were close now. They were so close he could taste it.

Xxx

If the team's suspension hadn't been enough to demonstrate their loyalty, the pretend extortion certainly did the trick.

Jane couldn't quite believe he'd persuaded them to go along with it, truth be told. The rest of the team seemed game, but Lisbon approached the whole endeavor with an air of fatalism he found somewhat insulting to his abilities. She seemed convinced the whole thing would end in disaster, but she stuck with him and his "doomed" plan regardless. He was glad to have her there. Lisbon's presence was always reassuring. It was fun watching her blackmail the Renfrews, too. He hadn't known she had it in her.

The plan worked perfectly, of course. They got the evidence they needed. Minelli returned, the team was unsuspended, and Jane got his CBI badge back. And Jared Renfrew was going to be released from jail.

As the hour of Jared's release approached, Jane rattled around in the CBI bullpen, full of nervous energy. This was it. The beginning of the end.

He stopped to see Lisbon before leaving. "We're ready to go get Renfrew," he informed her. "Is the safe house all set up?"

"Yeah."

"Good." They would be staying with Jared the first few nights to assure his safety. Jane's mind, in its heightened state of distraction, detoured for a moment. Apropos of nothing, he wondered if he would get to see Lisbon in her jammies. And then, even more inappropriately, whether said jammies would afford him a proper view of her bare legs, for once. He shook his head a little to clear it. He was about to acquire the key to defeating his arch nemesis. This was hardly the right time to be dwelling on the decidedly attractive prospect of Lisbon's bare legs. Maybe after—

He cleared his throat. "Uh, I guess I'll see you over there later."

Lisbon, oblivious to his train of thought, looked grave. "Jane. Please be careful. Remember, this is playing out just like Red John wants it to."

Jane relaxed. They'd returned to the subject of his revenge. Comfortable territory. He stepped closer to her. "This is playing out just like it has to. He has no choice but to try to silence Renfrew. He has to show himself. We're getting close. I can feel it."

"You can feel it," Lisbon repeated. She remained unimpressed. "Like a psychic thing?" she asked sarcastically.

Jane acknowledged the hit with a smile. "No. I am quietly confident that we'll get a bite."

"You think you're playing him and he thinks he's playing you," Lisbon said flatly. "One of you is wrong."

Yeah, and this time it was Red John, Jane thought. He was sure of it.

Xxx

In hindsight, he should have realized his "quiet confidence" was just tempting fate. His own arrogance had been his downfall yet again. Hyper-aware of potential threats from external forces, he hadn't been on the lookout for a double-cross from Jared and thus had been un-prepared when the fool man made a break for it and went to goddamned Tijuana.

There was no doubt about it. The entire debacle could be laid squarely at his feet.

Back in the bullpen, he couldn't meet Lisbon's eyes. "Go ahead, say it," he said, addressing Rigsby's desk.

"Say what?"

"You told me—you warned me. You have the privilege of saying 'I told you so.'"

"That's all right," she said. "Not now. This isn't over yet." She gave him an encouraging smile. "We're gonna find Renfrew and he's going to tell us what he knows."

Three hours later, Jane was staring in shock at the bodies of Jared Renfrew and the poor prostitute who had the bad luck to be picked up by a man being hunted by Red John. Lisbon was right again. They'd found Jared Renfrew, all right. Unfortunately, he was in no condition to tell them anything.

He sat down on the edge of the sagging hotel mattress and stared at the wall, unseeing. God, he was a fool. A failure and a fool. Another broken promise to Angela and Charlotte. He'd sworn to get revenge for them, and here he was, with nothing more than two dead bodies to show for all his efforts.

Lisbon oversaw the processing of the scene as efficiently as usual, then came and sat beside him. She didn't say anything, though. She just sat beside him. Not pressing, but silently offering her support.

Without looking at her, he said quietly, "You can say it now."

A sad smile. "I don't really feel like saying it. Let me take a rain check on that." Her voice was soft, and painfully sweet. Somehow, he'd never noticed before just how sweet her voice could be.

A brief exchange followed in which Jane expressed his conviction that Red John was far more powerful than he thought. Lisbon tried to shore him up with thoughts of hope. He appreciated what she was trying to do, even if he couldn't bring himself to treat the affair with the same optimism she was affecting for his sake.

Beautiful, brave Lisbon. He may have been the smartest guy in the room, but this incident proved that of the two of them, Lisbon was infinitely the wiser.

 _I told you so._

The words rattled around in his brain. They were simple enough. She should have said it. She deserved to. He would have said it in a hot second. Still, he couldn't help being grateful that she hadn't.

A gentle press of two fingers on his sleeve interrupted his bout of self-recrimination. "Next time," she said softly. "We'll get him."

Lisbon's soft touch on his arm was almost more than he could bear. He couldn't help drawing a feeling of reassurance from the gesture, however.

He turned his head toward her and mustered up half a smile from somewhere. "Next time," he echoed.

The phone rang, interrupting the moment. It was Red John, calling to literally laugh at his expense. To prove that he was smarter than Jane. Red John cackled in his ear from the other end of the line, laughing at his humiliation and relishing the fact that he'd outwitted him once again.

Jane ended the call and handed the phone over to Evidence with less than zero confidence they would have any success tracing the call.

Lisbon came to stand next to him. He could feel her warmth at his side. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said. He looked into her wise green eyes and thought about everything she'd done for him over the past few weeks.

Red John had outsmarted him, this time. But Jane had smarts and wisdom on his side. Not to mention sheer numbers. They'd get him.

Next time.


	12. 1x12: Red Rum

A/N: This episode has always been kind of 'meh' for me. Probably because there wasn't enough J/L quality time for my taste. So I wasn't too sure about what I was going to write about for it. When I re-watched it, I decided my favorite line was Tamzin Dove's 'We're all born in magic. It's taken from us as we grow up.' So this tag is inspired mostly by that line, and Jane's line in Jolly Red Elf when he observes that Lisbon is still looking for magic in her life.

Fair warning: this pretty much devolves into syrupy sweet after the first scene.

xxx

"We're going to have to work a double shift on the stakeout tonight," Jane announced to Lisbon once he'd cracked the case and cast his spell.

"Are you at least going to tell me what's going on?" Lisbon asked with poorly disguised impatience.

Oh, how he adored teasing her. "Oh, come on. You're telling me you don't know what's going on? You don't know who did this, and why?"

"No," she said, refusing to rise to the bait. "But you're going to tell me."

Jane regarded her, a smile playing about his lips. "How bout I show you?" He took her arm and ushered her towards the door.

Lisbon rolled her eyes but permitted herself to be dragged along.

Xxx

Jane was very pleased with how the evening was shaping up. Instead of being stuck in his dreary hotel all night, whiling away the unbearably empty hours until morning, he had the promise of magic, justice, and pleasant company for the evening. Spending the night with Lisbon was infinitely more enjoyable than spending it alone.

Lisbon figured it out on the car ride back to Boonville. "It was the father, wasn't it?" she said, her voice flat. It wasn't a question.

Jane smiled. "How'd you figure it out?"

"The trips to the hospital," she said shortly.

Jane's smile faded. Of course she'd figured that out. "Yes."

Her mouth tightened but she said nothing more.

Jane cast about for a suitable distraction to pull her out of any unpleasant recollections of her own father. "I don't think we'll have much trouble with Elkins," he offered.

Lisbon glanced at him. "You seem awfully confident he's going to fall for your little trick. If he's smart, he'll just ignore your stupid spell and let us wait all night without giving us a clue where he hid the murder weapon."

"Ah, yes, but will he be able to resist?"

"Why shouldn't he? He doesn't believe in any of that crap any more than I do."

Jane paused. "Well, it was a pretty powerful spell I cast on him."

"Oh, really," she said, amused. "I thought you said there's no such thing as spells."

"Well… I did tell Cho that," Jane allowed. "To reassure him because he was so freaked out. But rest assured, Lisbon, the convictions of your heart when you were eight years old were correct. Magic is real."

"You called it 'witchcraft malarkey' not two hours ago," Lisbon said, her dimple showing on the side of her face he could see from the passenger seat.

"I'm not talking about witchcraft, I'm talking about magic," Jane said loftily. "Entirely difference species."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said, not buying it, but playing along.

"Doubt all you want," Jane said breezily. "Let's see what you have to say about it when my spell of revelation exposes the killer."

Xxx

"What are you doing?" Van Pelt's scandalized voice came from behind him the next morning.

Jane turned from the fire he'd set alight in the kitchen sink. "Ah, just a little favor for Cho," he said mildly. He collected the heap of the ashes in a mason jar, then sealed it closed. He delivered the results of his spell of unbinding to Cho's desk. Cho looked pleased to be released from the witch's power, but Jane didn't give him much time to react before wandering off. That Cho—he could be so effusive with his gratitude.

He went down the street and picked up some lunch, then headed back to the CBI and breezed into Lisbon's office.

"Apple walnut chicken salad," he announced, placing the sandwich before her on her desk. He plopped down in her visitor chair. He popped the lid off his own pasta salad and dug in with gusto.

Lisbon, who occasionally protested his attempts to feed her on some misguided principle of independence, accepted the sandwich with a smile. "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

Jane waved her off. "You can get the next one." This was his usual strategy to get Lisbon to let him to pay for meals for her. Whenever it seemed she might press the point and insist on paying, he reversed course. If he made enough of a nuisance of himself, eventually it would goad her into insisting he owed her lunch for causing some variation of his usual chaos. It was a delicate balance, but so far she hadn't cottoned on to the fact that aside from meals she expensed for the whole team, he'd managed to prevent her from paying for a single meal they'd shared throughout the duration of their acquaintance. He enjoyed the challenge of engineering these little acts of gallantry. Lisbon deserved to have a little chivalry directed her way, even if he had to resort to trickery to get her to accept it.

"Thanks," Lisbon said again, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"You're very welcome," Jane said, pleased. She was in a good mood. A cheerful Lisbon always made him absurdly happy.

"So," she said with a smirk and a sparkle of mirth in her eyes. "I heard you helped Cho out with his little witchcraft problem this morning."

Jane paused mid-bite. "Oh? Where'd you hear that?"

"Van Pelt said she saw you setting a fire in the kitchen this morning. Then I see Cho clutching a jar of ashes more tightly than he holds his Glock," Lisbon said. "It wasn't exactly hard to figure out."

"Well, it seemed his worry about the whole witchcraft thing was interfering with his job performance, so I thought I'd try my hand at my own spell of unbinding."

"I see," Lisbon said, amused. "This was all to help me out by employing a new management technique."

"Don't knock it til you've tried it," he said. He pointed his fork at her. "You could use a little magic in your life, Lisbon."

"Yeah, right," she snorted.

"It's true. Didn't you hear Tamzin Dove? 'We're all born in magic. It's taken from us as we grow up.'"

"The woman is a nut job," Lisbon protested.

Jane shrugged. "Maybe, but I think she had a point. That's why I'm making it my business to bring back the magic into your life."

"Lord help me," Lisbon exhaled. "If this plan involves me wearing a cloak and drinking chicken blood out of a silver goblet, count me out."

"Nothing so onerous, I assure you," Jane said with a grin. "In fact, you don't have to do anything at all. I've already taken care of it."

"What does that mean?" she asked suspiciously.

He took another bite of his pasta salad. "I cast a spell on you."

"You cast a spell on me," Lisbon said flatly.

"Certainly. I'm two for two when it comes to spell-casting at this point, after all. I figured I might as well expand my repertoire a bit."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said. "What kind of spell did you cast on me? Something to help me see who's guilty so I can catch killers faster?"

Jane shook his head. "I know we've made an exception for this case, but magic and murder really shouldn't be mixed. Besides," he added. "You don't need magic to help you catch killers faster. That's what you have me for."

"I see. Now you're a wizard, hoarding all the magic for yourself so you have job security," Lisbon teased him. "So, great wizard, spill. What kind of 'spell of revelation' did you cast on me?"

"The spell I cast on you wasn't a spell of revelation," he told her.

"What kind was it, then?"

"This was a spell far more ambitious in scale and scope," Jane said. "I know it doesn't come naturally to you, but you might need to be patient for the results. It might take a while for this spell to bear fruit. But rest assured, the foundations of the spell are already at work."

"At work doing what?" she asked with a touch of asperity. "You still haven't said."

"It's very simple in concept, if not in execution," he told her. "It's a spell of happiness."

She blinked. "A spell of happiness?"

"Yes. I cast a spell on you that a dashing man will fall madly in love with you and devote the rest of his life to ensuring your well-being and happiness," he explained.

She stared at him. "You cast a— a _love spell_ on me?" she spluttered.

He considered this characterization. "If you like. That's a bit of an over-simplification of the true nature of the spell, if you ask me, but to each his own."

She looked at him as though he'd just suggested she bathe herself in a bucket of eye of newt. "An over-simplification."

"Yes, that's only the first phase of the spell," he informed her.

"What's phase two, then?" she demanded.

"Why, that you have beautiful children together and live long, wonderful lives," Jane said, unperturbed.

"This sounds like a sexist spell," she commented. "Like all those Disney fairy tales. A woman can never be happy without a man and 2.5 children in her life."

"This has nothing to do with being a man or a woman," Jane said sternly. "Centuries of literature are clear on the subject. Love is the most powerful magic there it is. If I wanted to cast an enduring spell of happiness for you, love obviously had to be a key ingredient."

"All right, then," she said, rolling her eyes. "Go on."

"Are you ready to hear the rest? Because if you if keep interrupting, who knows what might happen? The spell might not take root. Then where will you be?"

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Carry on with your tale of your super powerful magic love spell."

"Thank you," he said with dignity. "As I was saying, you and your charming and devoted husband have beautiful children together. And you bicker over things that make your children roll their eyes at you, but that's okay, because everyone knows that's just how you express your deep and abiding love for each other." He met her gaze. "And you both live to a ripe old age, surrounded by your loving family. When you're too old to run around solving murders, or really do any running at all without breaking a hip, you sit on the front porch swing together. And when you sit on that swing and look into each other's eyes, you both smile, because you know you spent a wonderful life together, loving and being loved."

He paused. It was possible he might have gotten a little carried away with his own spell-casting.

Lisbon had been listening, transfixed. When he stopped, she looked down and bit her lip. "That…that sounds like a really nice spell, Jane." She stole a glance at him, then blushed and busied herself fiddling with the wrapper for her sandwich.

He watched the color tinge her cheeks a delicate pink, enchanted. She was so pretty when she blushed.

He blinked and came back to himself. _Just who was ensorcelling whom here?_ he reminded himself sternly.

She cleared her throat. "So, uh, any tips on where I should be on the lookout for this prince charming you've magicked into falling madly in love with me?" she asked, still avoiding his gaze.

"Firstly, I didn't 'magic' him into falling in love with you," Jane corrected her. "He isn't drawn to you because you're a princess in a tower or some such nonsense. He's devoted to you because you're a good and kind person who puts others before yourself and you deserve someone who appreciates those qualities and wants to make you as happy as possible because of them."

"I thought the whole point of this spell was to make some poor sap to fall in love with me," Lisbon protested.

"Don't you know anything about the laws of magic?" Jane said, exasperated. "Love can't be created by magic. Magic can just…facilitate it. It creates the circumstances that make love possible."

Lisbon wrinkled her nose. "So it can't make prince charming fall in love with me, but it can make him bump into me in the street so that we meet in the first place?"

"Exactly," Jane said, pleased. Perhaps he would succeed in teaching her something about magic yet.

"Great," Lisbon said. "I'll just stop looking where I'm going when I go around street corners. Maybe I should start carrying around stacks of files wherever I go so the papers spill all over the ground and the bounds of politeness force him to help me pick them all up."

"Never fear, Lisbon," he said. "No such machinations will be necessary. You have my magic spell to take care of all of that for you, remember?"

"How could I forget?" she said dryly. "You've been pretty vague on the details, though. Just when should I expect this spell to kick in, exactly?"

Jane shrugged. "When the time is right."

"Helpful," Lisbon remarked.

"It could be months, or even years," Jane said. "The point is, tremendous happiness awaits in your future, Lisbon. That's what you need to remember."

She bit her lip again. "If your spell can really do all you say it can," she said softly, "it would be worth the wait."

He couldn't seem to look away from her. "Just you wait, Lisbon. It's a very powerful spell. If you just have a little patience, I don't think you'll be disappointed."

She smiled at him, a soft, dimpled smile. "Well, thank you, Jane, for taking it upon yourself to bring some magic into my life. I look forward to reaping the rewards of your bit of spell work, whenever they might present themselves."

Jane looked at the smile. He was in danger of becoming ensorcelled again.

She stood and picked up a file folder. "I have to go to a budget meeting with Bertram now," she announced, effectively killing the magic. "Thanks again for lunch. And for the magic spell."

"You're welcome," Jane said softly. Lisbon left. He finished his lunch in her office. His mind wandered to the mysterious, faceless stranger he'd assigned in his spell to carry the awesome responsibility of assuring Teresa Lisbon's happiness. He hoped the man would be up for it, whoever he was. He would have his work cut out for him, that was for sure. He'd probably have to spend years to even begin to understand the subtle complexities of her character, for a start. Then, once he had a foot in the door, no doubt he'd have to wheedle and coax her into letting him care for her the way she deserved. Yes, even with a little magic to help him along, the man tasked with winning the love and affection of Teresa Lisbon had a long, hard road ahead of him.

The lucky bastard.


	13. 1x13: Paint It Red

A/N: This one got away from me. I think for my next installment I will need to challenge myself to adhere to some kind of word limit. This one really stretches the bounds of canon. It turned out to pretty much be an exercise in self-indulgent fluff in which I borrow pretty liberally from other things I've written. But I figure if you can't be self-indulgent in fan fiction, where can you be? More notes under the cut...

xxx

Jane woke up from his nap, refreshed. He stole a look at the copy of the Moro he'd hung opposite his couch and smiled. The code phrase had been apt. She _was_ beautiful. Messing with Cho and Rigsby had been fun, too. As had robbing a Russian gangster. All in all, it had been a very satisfying case.

He stood and stretched, then wandered into the break room to fix himself a cup of tea. The bullpen was dark and quiet, but light spilled from Lisbon's office, signaling that she was working late.

How dreary, he thought. This was a sign. Lisbon clearly needed him to liven up her evening. It was Friday night, after all.

He made her a cup of decaf—the woman drank entirely too much caffeine—and took it to her.

She looked up from a pile of paperwork on her desk. "Hey," she said crisply.

Uh-oh. Her tone was decidedly frosty.

"Hey." He placed the cup of coffee on the corner of her desk and settled down opposite her with his tea.

She looked at the coffee as though it were pond sludge. "Is this supposed to make up for your idiocy?"

"Of course not," he said smoothly. "I'd never try to do that with decaf." He hid his dismay. He hadn't done anything that terrible, had he? He had solved the case, after all.

Now she was looking at the coffee as though it were pond sludge with a topping of frog vomit. "This is decaf?"

"You shouldn't drink caffeine this late at night," he told her, taking a sip of his chamomile.

She snorted. "That's rich, coming from you."

He paused with the cup halfway to the saucer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're up at all hours drinking tea any damn time you please, but you don't think I should have a cup of real coffee. You always think you know what's best, no matter what anyone else thinks," she accused.

He placed his cup in his saucer with more calm than he felt. "We aren't talking about the coffee, are we?"

"Very observant," she said acidly.

He was coming around to it now. "You're still upset about Orlov," he stated.

"Give the man a prize," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What was your first clue?"

"I told you, Orlov can't complain about me taking the painting," Jane said, taking another sip of his tea. "He was in possession of stolen property. His hands are tied."

She exhaled through her nose, her mouth a tight line. "So not the point, Jane."

He raised his eyebrows. "What is the point, Teresa?"

She looked thrown by the use of her first name for a split second, then decided to ignore it and plowed on. "Do you see all this paperwork?" she demanded, gesturing to the stacks of forms surrounding her.

Jane eyed it dubiously. There did seem to be rather more of it than usual. "Yes."

"Someone at State found out about your little stunt," she told him. "They're pissed as hell. I had to spend all afternoon smoothing it over, and now I'm in paperwork up to my neck. Do you think I like filling out all these reports? That I'm doing it for my health? It's Friday night, Jane. I could be out, having fun. I could have…a…a date, or something."

Jane's gaze sharpened when she mentioned the possibility of spending her Friday night on a date. _So why don't you?_ he thought silently. She could, easily. She was smart and funny and attractive. And instead of allowing some handsome EMT or assistant DA or something to squire her around town, she was stuck here doing hours' worth of paperwork. Her single state was a mystery that had often niggled at the back of his mind, but so far, he hadn't managed to unravel it.

She regretted the reference instantly. He could tell from the panicked way her eyes flicked to his after the words escaped. He could see her desperately wishing to unsay it. She just couldn't figure out how.

She barreled ahead, hoping to bury her ill-considered remark in an avalanche of irritation. She tapped her pen on her desk in annoyance. "Instead, I'm stuck here, because the AG is threatening to throw you out of the CBI and suspend the whole team if I can't convince the State Department to drop the whole thing."

Aware that voicing any sort of comment about Lisbon's dating life, or lack thereof, was likely to dig him even deeper into the hole he was trying to climb out of, Jane went for a diversion. "How did they even find out about the thing with Orlov in the first place?"

He knew it hadn't been Lisbon, despite her anger. Surely Cho and Rigsby hadn't ratted him out.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "You ripped off a super rich Russian gangster in his home while he was having a party with more than fifty people in attendance. You don't think that story got around?"

"Well," Jane said, a bit ruffled. "I'd at least think that people hanging around a Russian gangster would be smart enough not to blab about it to the State Department."

"The State Department has informants, too," she told him. "Every single one of those people and their counterparts in the department are livid that you risked years' worth of painstaking work for the sake of your vanity and one of your childish pranks."

Jane winced. That remark had hit a little too close for comfort. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Whatever, Jane," she said wearily. "Can you just—go, so I can finish this sometime before midnight?"

This was a bad sign. Lisbon's temper generally flared and burned fast as quicksilver. Its heat could be deadly when faced full blast, but usually after she vented her spleen by yelling at him for a while, the flames died down and she returned to a state of calm relatively quickly. Despite her most valiant efforts to stay mad at him, more often than not she forgave him far too easily.

This weary resignation was a thousand times worse than being shouted at. His insides squirmed with guilt. She looked genuinely upset. Because of him. The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit to himself. "I'm sorry," he said again quietly.

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sometimes," she said quietly, "I just wish you would think a little more about how the consequences of your actions affect people other than yourself."

The words cut him to the bone. He was forcibly reminded of the disastrous consequences of his most spectacular failure to do just that. The one that haunted his dreams and poisoned every breath he took.

Lisbon opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, gathering her composure, then looked up. "Don't mind me, Jane. I'll get over it. Just—let me wrap this up, okay? I'll feel better in the morning."

He stood up. "Listen, Lisbon," he said earnestly. "I _am_ sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She smiled tiredly, but he could tell she didn't believe him. "Sure, Jane."

He felt a pang in his chest. He _would_ make it up to her.

He left quietly, an idea formulating in his mind about how to do just that.

Xxx

He felt much better the next morning. His plan was a good one—he was sure it would work.

He knocked on her door at eight am sharp.

There was no answer right away, so he knocked again. Her car was parked outside the building, so he was sure she was home.

When she finally flung the door open, it was clear he'd woken her. Apparently, Agent Teresa Lisbon liked to sleep in on the weekends. He'd always suspected as much, given her general irritability when roused for early morning cases, but it was nice to have one's theories confirmed. She was still in her sleepwear. Namely, an oversized Chicago Bears t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts that left miles and miles of pale, slender legs exposed to him.

He stared. The image of Teresa Lisbon's bare legs was quite a sight to behold. Good God. The woman's legs went on for days. Sleek and toned, delightfully smattered with freckles—

"Jane? What the hell are you doing here?" Lisbon demanded in unflattering astonishment.

Jane licked his lips. They'd suddenly gone dry for some reason. "I, uh…"

He seemed to have lost the thread, somehow. Why _had_ he come? He was fairly certain he hadn't come in hopes of seeing Lisbon's bare legs. That had been an entirely unexpected pleasure.

Her expression changed. "Jane?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

He nodded mutely.

She sucked in a breath. "The team?" she said, her face pale with dread.

The frightened concern in her voice brought him back to himself. "Everyone's fine, Lisbon," he assured her. "I didn't come bearing bad news, I promise."

"Thank God," she breathed. She paused. "But then—what are you doing here?"

"I came to take you to breakfast," Jane informed her.

She stared at him. "You what?"

He gave her his most dazzling grin. "I'm taking you to breakfast."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"I told you, I want to make the whole potential international incident thing up to you."

"And you thought the best way to do that was to show up on my doorstep uninvited at eight am on a Saturday?" she said incredulously.

"Come on, Lisbon. I know a great little diner at the edge of town. They make the best coffee in Sacramento. So I've heard, anyway."

"It had better not be decaf," she said with a scowl.

"Not to worry, my dear. This will be a fully caffeinated experience, I promise."

She sighed. "Fine. But only because I'm hungry and you're buying."

"That's the spirit. Now, run along and get dressed. If we hurry, we can beat the morning rush."

She muttered an oath under her breath.

He'd been hoping to wrangle an invitation to wait inside so he could snoop around her apartment while she dressed. She shut the door in his face before he could put a toe across the threshold.

"I'll just wait here, then," he said to the door. He sat down on her front step and set about committing the sight of Lisbon's bare legs to his memory palace. He knew it was a bad idea, for various reasons he seemed to have to remind himself of more and more often the longer he knew her, but he couldn't help himself. Legs like that ought to be appreciated, even if it was only in the confines of his own mind. As long as he restricted the indulgence to the boundaries of his memory palace, surely it was safe.

Lisbon returned less than ten minutes later, fully dressed. He had to give credit where credit was due—she certainly was efficient. "Let's go," she said shortly.

He stood and swept his arm out in a grandly chivalrous gesture. "After you, my dear."

Xxx

Not surprisingly, Lisbon didn't say much over breakfast. He didn't push her. She wasn't a morning person, and he knew his chances of getting her into a good temper would not be helped by an insistence on conversation this early in the morning. She relaxed when she realized he wasn't going to make her talk and focused on the food, instead. She mellowed considerably once he got a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs with bacon and toast in her. By the time he persuaded her to split a chocolate croissant with him, all the tension had left her neck and shoulders ('Appeal to her sweet tooth' was Rule #37 in the 'How to soften Teresa Lisbon's temper' handbook).

"Thanks for breakfast," Lisbon said when they walked out to the car.

"You're welcome," he said, unlocking the car.

Lisbon offered no further conversation until two minutes later, when he turned, not back towards her apartment, but in the direction of the interstate instead. She frowned. "You're going the wrong way."

"No, I'm not," Jane said cheerfully, accelerating as he approached the onramp for the freeway.

"My apartment's back that way," Lisbon said, gesturing over her shoulder.

"I'm aware of that, Lisbon," he said, merging onto the freeway and heading for the causeway. "We're not going back there just yet."

"What the hell, Jane?" she exploded.

Jane kept his eyes on the road. "I thought we'd go into San Francisco for the day."

Her eyes bugged out. "You _what_?"

"I'm making up the Orlov thing to you, remember?"

"I thought that was what breakfast was for."

"No, breakfast was just to get you in the car in the first place." Seeing her expression out of the corner of his eye, he added hastily, "And to experience the pleasure of a fine meal in your delightful company, of course."

"Spare me," she muttered.

Jane ignored this. "Breakfast was just the precursor to the main event."

"Which is what?" Lisbon asked with dread.

"The Museum of the Legion of Honor. In honor of our time with the Moro, I thought we could spend some quality time with a few other masterpieces."

"You think forcing me to spend my day off going to some boring old museum is going to make up for the stunt you pulled with Orlov?" Lisbon said incredulously.

"Firstly, the Museum of the Legion of Honor is not a boring old museum," Jane said. "It's a premier institution with one of the finest collections in the state. Secondly, you should consider yourself lucky. I considered taking you to the Museum of Modern Art, but knowing your tastes as I do, I assumed you'd prefer a more traditional artistic experience."

"A modern art museum?" Lisbon said, appalled. "You mean those places where people lock themselves in a box for three days and call it art?"

"I guess we'll have to work up to more abstract representations," Jane mused. "Not to worry, though. The Museum of the Legion of Honor has plenty of exhibits I'm sure you'll enjoy."

Lisbon looked like she was seriously considering throwing herself out of the moving car if it would get her out of spending the day perusing famous works of art and fascinating historical artifacts with him. "I hate museums," she said flatly.

"Nonsense," Jane said. "Who hates museums?"

"Lots of people," Lisbon said. "People who prefer activities with a little more action than looking at endless paintings on a flat white wall."

"If you're nice to me," Jane said, changing lanes. "Maybe I'll take you to a baseball game next time. But I really can't allow your current perception of museums to stand, Lisbon. I have a cultural responsibility to make sure you understand the depth and richness of beauty the greatest masterpieces have to offer."

"You really, really don't," Lisbon said.

"Of course I do," Jane said. "Besides, what with all the switching going on with copies and whatnot, you never got a chance to properly appreciate the Moro. Taking you to see the works of some of the other masters to make up for that is the least I can do."

Lisbon looked dubious. "I don't know. I would have been happy with less."

"Nonsense," Jane said. "You're going to love it."

Lisbon hunched down in her seat and scowled.

Xxx

Their excursion did not start out on a promising note.

Lisbon evidenced no interest in his lecture on the Dutch masters. Instead, she spent their first ten minutes inside the museum scanning the crowd suspiciously, as though patrolling for signs of criminal activity.

"Jane," she said, nudging him in the side and interrupting his rhapsodizing on the brilliance of Vermeer. "That guy over there with the lumpy backpack. Do you think he could be concealing an explosive device in there?"

Jane looked around and took a closer look at the young man in question. He wore nothing but black, had a tendency to squint, and had made the admittedly unfortunate decision to grow a thin, ratty looking mustache on his upper lip, but otherwise he looked harmless to Jane. "No," he said firmly. "The shifty eyes are due to poor eyesight, and the backpack is probably full of art supplies."

"Art supplies?" Lisbon echoed as the young man disappeared around the corner. "Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure," Jane said. "Black clothes, terrible mustache… he has art student written all over him."

Lisbon looked unconvinced. Jane sighed. "Come on, I'll prove it to you. Put your mind at rest."

He placed his hand at the small of her back and ushered her off in the direction the young man had headed.

They found him several moments later, pulling out a sketchbook in a secluded corner of the gallery in front of a Rubens painting.

"Told you," Jane whispered in her ear.

Lisbon didn't answer, just watched in fascination as the young man made his first stroke on the page, so intent on his subject he remained oblivious to the fact that they were blatantly staring at him.

Jane kept his hand at the small of her back and steered her away. "Come on," he said. "We'll come back when he's a little further along, see how he's doing."

Lisbon reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged away. She didn't seem as interested in Rubens as his artistic admirer, however. Jane tried to draw her attention to the composition and form of the painting nearest them, but she was distracted and he didn't have much success.

Her eyes tracked on an elderly woman in an elegant Chanel suit and a string of pearls. Jane wondered if Lisbon thought the woman might be some kind of high class art thief. Then she fidgeted and he realized she was uncomfortable rather than suspicious. He paused. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, evading his gaze. Her eyes flicked to the pearls again and she shifted on one foot.

Ah. He thought he saw the problem now. "You didn't go to a lot of art museums growing up, did you?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Not really. A couple of field trips, that sort of thing. That's about it."

No doubt art museums were considered an unnecessary luxury in the working class Lisbon household. Lisbon must feel that fine art museums were the domain of snooty rich people, not the daughter of an ER nurse and a firefighter. He knew no good would come of pointing this out, however, so he said instead, "Well, that's no way to properly enjoy fine art. Surrounded by rowdy, snickering ten year olds and constantly under the watchful eye of a stern and disapproving nun. No wonder you hate museums."

She exhaled her relief. "I'm glad you understand. Can we please go home now?"

"No. Now I see it's even more important to change your mind about museums."

"I'm telling you, Jane, museums are not my thing," she said, frustrated. "You might as well just save your breath."

Jane ignored her. He stepped forward and took her hands in his.

Lisbon resisted instinctively, her eyes widening as she attempted to pull her hands away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"You're worrying too much about the other people around you," Jane said firmly. He gripped her hands and refused to let go. "Forget the snot-nosed kids in your class and Sister Mary Whosis. Forget the art student-cum-terrorist and that woman over there in the Chanel knockoff." It wasn't a knockoff, but Lisbon didn't need to know that. "There has to be at least one piece of art that you remember liking."

Lisbon continued to try to tug her hands out of his grip. "I don't think so."

He held fast and didn't let her go. "Close your eyes."

She shot him her 'no way in hell' look. "What, are you going to hypnotize me into becoming an art lover?"

"So suspicious. I promise you, I have nothing so sinister in mind. I'm just trying to get you to relax so you can get into the proper frame of mind to enjoy this lovely day at the museum." He squeezed her hands. "Trust me."

"Famous last words," she grumbled.

"Oh, don't be like that. Come, now. Close your eyes."

She couldn't resist rolling her eyes one more time, but at his urging, she closed them at last.

"Very good," Jane said encouragingly. "Now, there must be at least one piece of art you've run across in your life that you remember liking."

"I guess," Lisbon said doubtfully.

"Okay, then. Forget all about the other people in this museum. Forget about the annoying boys in your class and the nun glaring at everyone. Remember that art isn't for young or old, rich or poor. That's not what art is about."

Lisbon tilted her head to one side, her eyes still closed. "What is it about, then?"

"Art is for everyone," he told her, watching her eyes flicker beneath her closed eyelids. "It is a great equalizer. Nobody can tell you what to think about a piece of art. Everyone who looks at it might find a different piece of meaning in it. It's about communicating thoughts and ideas when words aren't adequate to express them. It's a conversation. The artist starts the conversation by putting his idea on canvas. And you finish the conversation by reacting to it. You might hate it, love it, or be completely indifferent towards it. It's not about art theory or technique or style. All you have to do to hold up your end of the conversation is to feel something." He squeezed her hands again. "Now, tell me the last piece of art you remember liking for its own sake, not because it was some great masterpiece or whatever. Just tell me about a piece of art that you liked, just because you liked it."

She bit her lip.

"Go on," Jane said encouragingly. "You thought of one, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "It was—it's a famous one. I don't remember the name of it. It's that one made up of all those tiny dots. It's a picture of a bunch of people in a park, by a lake or something." She frowned a little, a crease forming between her closed eyes. "A Sunday Afternoon in Paris?" she guessed.

"A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte," Jane said, smiling. "Georges Seurat. Father of pointillism. It's a real park, next to a river. The painting is at the Art Institute of Chicago. Did you see it there on one of your field trips?"

She shook her head. "My mom and I did a puzzle of it together one Christmas." She smiled faintly, remembering. "A thousand pieces."

"Sounds like a tough one," Jane commented.

"It was," she confirmed, her eyes still closed. "About half the pieces were some shade of green."

"What was it that you liked about it?" Jane asked.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, trying to remember. "I dunno. I guess it just looked kind of peaceful, you know? All the people are kind of doing their own thing, but they're all out there together, enjoying the park on a beautiful day."

Jane resolved to take her to a park to get ice cream at the earliest possible convenience. One with no dead bodies or witness interviews or any such similar indicators of criminal activity. "Very good. Now, keep your eyes closed."

Predictably, she cracked one eye open in suspicion. He smiled at her. "No peeking."

She heaved a put upon sigh and dutifully closed her eyes once again.

He released her hands and slid his hands up to her shoulders. He slowly and deliberately turned her around three times, then let her go. "All right, you can open your eyes now."

Lisbon opened her eyes and blinked. Jane gestured around them. "Okay. Out of all the paintings in this room, which one do you like the best?"

She shied away, flinching slightly. "Oh—I don't know. I told you, Jane, I really don't know anything about art."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I'm not asking you to critique the finer points of the artistic technique, Lisbon. I'm just asking you which one of the two dozen paintings in your immediate vicinity most speaks to you."

Lisbon glanced around. "I dunno," she muttered. She flung her arm out seemingly at random and pointed. "That one, I guess."

Jane followed the trajectory of her arm to a painting on the opposite side of the room. He walked over to it to examine it more closely, noting the title. Lisbon followed. "'Young Boy Singing,'" he read aloud. The picture was indeed of a young boy singing, a sheet of music clutched in both hands, candlelight shining through the paper and bathing the young singer's pale face in golden light. "Interesting. Not the most original title, I must say," he mused. "Still, it's a nice painting. What is it that drew you to it?"

Lisbon shrugged. "The lighting is pretty cool, I guess."

Jane read the plaque next to the painting. "Well spotted, Lisbon. It's by 'The Candlelight Master.' What else do you like about it?"

Lisbon hesitated. "Well—it just got me wondering. Why is this kid staying up so late to sing? I mean, I guess it could have been winter and gotten dark early, but still. I mean, candles used to be expensive back then, right? He doesn't look poor, but he doesn't look rich, either. He probably had chores during the day, but he takes the time to practice his music late at night, when he's tired and everyone else in the house is probably resting."

"I see," Jane teased her. "You identify with him because you can relate to him as a fellow workaholic."

She smacked him on the shoulder, but then turned her attention back to the painting. "No," she said, her voice a little wistful. "I just think he must have really loved the music."

Jane decided he liked this interpretation. "I think you're right."

Lisbon turned to him expectantly. "Okay. Your turn."

"Hm?" Jane said, studying the notes on the sheet of paper in the boy's hands, backlit by the bright candlelight.

Lisbon folded her arms across her chest. "Your turn," she repeated. "Which one is your favorite?"

Jane decided indulging her was the best means of securing the success of his plan. He cast his eyes around the room, making a show of pondering over his selection. "That one," he decided finally, pointing at a painting several frames away from where they were standing.

Lisbon walked over to it. "'The Triumph of Amphitrite,'" she read.

"Goddess of the sea," Jane confirmed. "Wife of Poseidon."

Lisbon looked at it more closely. "It almost looks like a sculpture more than a painting," she observed. "It looks like it's coming right off the canvas."

"It's a technique called 'trompe l'oeil,'" Jane told her. "It means 'trick of the eye' in French."

Lisbon snorted. "Only you would find a painting appealing because its central feature is a means to trick the audience."

Jane glanced at her. "Maybe I just admire the majesty of the sea."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said, unconvinced.

In the next room, Lisbon chose Bougereau's 'Broken Pitcher' as her favorite. "Her eyes are so sad," Lisbon remarked, studying the young girl in a long skirt and shawl sitting by a well. "They make her look like she's older than she really is, don't they?"

"More than you know," Jane said. He pointed to the broken jug at the girl's feet. "The broken pitcher symbolizes loss of virginity. Hard to say from this whether Bougereau is implying she might have been raped, or if he was merely commenting on the perception of the precocious sexuality of peasant girls at the time."

"What?" Lisbon looked scandalized. "She can't be more than twelve!"

Jane shrugged. "Just goes to show the sexualization of children is hardly a modern concept. It is a well-executed portrait, I'll give him that."

Lisbon glared at the picture as though she wished she could go back in time and arrest the artist for child pornography and whisk the girl off to safety. "I hope she smashed that pitcher over his head," was her final comment on the piece.

Jane's selection from the same room was 'The Thunderstorm,' a Dutch painting of a ship on the verge of capsizing, with a smaller boat coming to its rescue. He was full of praise for the artist's dramatic lighting and use of texture, but Lisbon wasn't impressed.

"I like that one better," she said, pointing to the painting next to it.

Jane peered at it. "Ice fishing?" he said, perplexed. The artist had rendered the scene competently enough, but he failed to see what about 'Fishing Under the Ice on the Maas' had won Lisbon's favor.

She shrugged. "All the people in the picture are working together for the good of the community. I think that's nice."

"Huh," Jane said, examining the painting more closely. The subject matter hadn't drawn his attention at first, so he hadn't devoted much thought to the scene. Now that he was looking at it more carefully, he could see her point. Attending a museum with Lisbon was turning out to be even more interesting than he'd hoped.

The next room was devoted primarily to works depicting the birth of Christ and other religious paintings in the same vein. Personally, this kind of painting bored Jane to tears. While he could admire the techniques employed by the individual artists, privately, he was of the opinion that if you'd seen once religious Renaissance painting, you'd seen 'em all. Still, given her Catholic upbringing, he was curious which one Lisbon would respond to most. She rarely spoke of her faith—well, never, really. At least, not to him. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that. He'd never made his own less than devout views on religion a secret, after all. He watched her look over the paintings in the Jesus room (that was what he was calling it in his head, anyway) and tried to guess which she'd choose as her favorite.

She surprised him again. He saw her glance at the multitude of paintings of the birth of Christ and the Crucifixion without much interest, though she did point out a few Biblical references Jane wasn't familiar with here and there. She lingered over a painting of Jesus as a young shepherd, complete with sheep to tend, but this one did not win the favored status.

"That one," she declared, pointing.

Jane ambled over to the painting she'd indicated. "El Greco, huh? Interesting choice." Of all the florid, ostentatious paintings in the room, she'd chosen 'St. Francis Venerating the Crucifix,' a dark, grim looking painting almost completely lacking in color. The painting featured the titular saint in a gray cloak, gazing beatifically at a miniature figure of Christ on the cross, propped up by what appeared to be a human skull. The whole thing was set off by an even darker backdrop of an ominous mountain looming in the background. What about this austere scene had struck a chord with Lisbon, he wondered.

Perhaps it was the austerity itself that appealed to her, he realized. The idea that even if life gave you nothing but a worn, patched cloak and an old skull for your trouble, at least you had the loving warmth of your Savior to get you through the tough times.

"He looks happy, doesn't he?" Lisbon commented. "Peaceful." She was silent for a moment. "The artist had true faith," she said finally.

Jane glanced at her, intrigued. "As opposed to the other artists in here, you mean?"

She was quiet again. "I had an art requirement in college," she said at last. "I took art history."

He smiled. "I'm guessing it wasn't your favorite class."

"I only took it because it fit in my schedule," she confirmed. "The professor had this old slide projector. He'd click through the slides and drone on and on about the influence of Christianity in European art." She grimaced. "I had a heavy course load that semester, and I was working part time. It was all I could do not to fall asleep in the middle of his lectures."

Jane's ears perked up. "What's this? Teresa Goody-Two-Shoes Lisbon falling asleep in class?"

"It was dark in there!" Lisbon said defensively. "Anyway, I wasn't asleep. Just bored."

"Go on," Jane said encouragingly.

"The point is, he was obsessed with the Christian themes in all those Renaissance paintings," she said, glancing around at the gaudy representations of Christ in palaces and similarly grand surroundings. "But personally, I got the feeling half of them were just painted on commission because the king needed another picture for his throne room or something."

Jane chuckled. "You may not be wrong about that."

"But then he switched to architecture. He talked a lot about Notre Dame, in Paris."

"What about it?" Jane said, curious to know where she was going with this.

"He talked about the arches and vaulted ceilings representing the ascent to Heaven, and even the layout of the building as a whole being laid out in the shape of a cross. He showed slides of the stained glass windows and talked about how long it took to build it. At first, all I could think was that it was such a waste of money. All that money spent supposedly in the name of God. I figured God would rather that the king or whoever just give that money to feed the poor or heal the sick, not waste time on one stupid building that wasn't even designed to give shelter to His children. But then he showed us pictures of the interior. Every pillar and arch carved in meticulous detail. Those beautiful windows, lighting up stories from the Bible from the outside. And I thought—" She bit her lip and plowed on. "I thought about the person who commissioned it in the first place, and the architect—or team of architects, who must have worked so hard to design something so beautiful. And it was a church, not a palace. It was built as a house for God, with no other purpose in mind. I remember the professor said it took over a hundred years to build. Can you imagine that? The original people who wanted to create it never even got to see it completed. But others picked up the work and finished it. And when it was done, it was so beautiful and intricate. All those workers, each working on their own little piece and making each detail perfect. It was like—a love letter to God. One that was started by the designer and finished a hundred years later by who knows how many people working together. I remember being blown away by the idea that someone could love God so much that they were inspired to create something so incredibly vast and beautiful to honor Him. It's—it's kind of amazing, isn't it?"

"Yes," Jane said softly. "It is." He couldn't relate to the idea, exactly, but he could appreciate the concept of multiple generations working towards a common vision.

Lisbon gestured around them. "Anyway, maybe some of these artists were inspired in the same way. I don't know." She looked at the El Greco. "But this one, I know for sure."

She glanced at Jane. "You probably think that's silly, don't you?" she said, embarrassed.

He held her gaze. "No. I don't."

She looked back at him, a question in her eyes. "What do you think, then?"

"I think," he said slowly. "That anything created with a truly loving heart is something to be treasured and admired. Even if I don't believe in the same things that person's heart holds true myself."

Lisbon looked satisfied by this answer. "Okay."

He held her gaze a moment longer. "Want to get some lunch?"

She smiled. "All right. What did you have in mind?"

The Museum of the Legion of Honor was in a beautiful spot overlooking the Pacific and the Golden Gate Bridge, so Jane had packed a picnic. They ate their sandwiches on a bench under a handful of cypress trees, looking out over the water.

Jane had been expecting Lisbon to have had enough museum time by now, but when they finished their lunch and she didn't immediately demand to be taken back to Sacramento, he interpreted this as a sign that she might be amenable to spending a couple more hours in the museum.

"What do you say?" he asked. "You up for staying a while longer?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer," she said neutrally. "Since you want to all the trouble to drag me down here in the first place."

That carefully neutral tone meant she was enjoying herself. If she'd been bored, she wouldn't have been shy about letting him know that.

He grinned, pleased. "Stockholm syndrome setting in, eh?"

"That must be it," she agreed, but she couldn't hide her dimple quirking on one side.

They came across their artistic friend not long after they re-entered the museum. He'd finished his Rubens sketches and had moved on to Renoir. He worked quickly and deftly, Jane noted. He spied two completed Rubens sketches, and the Renoir was already well underway. The young man was talented, he had to give him that.

The young man saw them watching him this time and gave them a smile.

Emboldened, Lisbon stepped closer to look at his sketches more closely. "Your work is beautiful," she told him.

The young man shook his head and Jane noticed he wore a hearing aid in one ear. The artist wrote a note on the corner of a blank sheet in his sketchpad. Jane craned his neck so he could read it.

'Not as beautiful as you.'

Apparently the young Lothario could read lips, Jane noted.

Lisbon, predictably, turned scarlet. "Oh—no," she stammered, shaking her head violently and unconsciously taking half a step back. Clearly mortified, she looked to Jane for help, but when she met his gaze, she blushed even harder and immediately looked away.

Amused, Jane stepped in to smooth things over. "You have a very discerning eye," he told the young artist. "Are you a student?"

The young man confirmed that he was. Jane spoke to him a few minutes longer, then politely thanked him for his time and told him they would let him return to his work.

They moved away from the young artist and returned their attention to Renoir and his compatriots. Lisbon gamely pointed out her favorites and Jane gladly returned the favor, drawing her into a lengthy debate about Cezanne's skill compared to Pisarro.

Midway through this discussion, Jane noticed their young artist friend had abandoned his study of Renoir and moved on to a more animated source of inspiration. The young man cast furtive glances in Lisbon's direction, his pencil flying over the page.

Jane smirked to himself and decided to indulge in a little harmless collusion. He took Lisbon by the elbow and steered her in the direction of a conveniently situated Manet, thus distracting her from noticing the young artist's activities while continuing to afford the young man a clear line of sight to his chosen subject.

When Lisbon declared she'd had enough of Impressionism, they moved on to an exhibit of neo-classical French furniture, exquisitely crafted down to the finest delicate detail.

Lisbon lingered over the ornately carved furniture and gilded columns. "I can't imagine ever living in a place where anything in this room would possibly fit in with the rest of my stuff, but I have to admit, it is beautiful," she commented.

"Well, if you were charged with furnishing an eighteenth century French palace, which thing from this room would you pick?" Jane asked, continuing their 'favorites' game.

Lisbon chose a beautiful writing desk with a dozen cubbies and hidey holes as her favorite. Jane teased her that this was a sign that even if she'd been a French royal, she still would have been a workaholic. She'd have been up late poring over the census rolls and worrying about how to feed the poor while the rest of the royal retinue was off attending fancy balls, dining on roast boar and drinking fine red wine.

She retaliated by teasing him for being equally predictable in his selection, which was, of course, a couch. A Louis XVI era divan upholstered in richest red velvet, to be precise.

"You'd probably sleep through the beheadings," she remarked. "You'd find a place to nap even if Robespierre himself was after you."

Jane shook his head. "That couch is no good for napping," he said, eyeing the high, unforgiving armrests. "Every couch to its purpose, Lisbon."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Every couch to its purpose?"

"Yes. That couch is clearly not designed for a cozy mid-afternoon nap," he said. He grinned wickedly at her. "It's far more suitable for seducing royal French beauties."

Lisbon rolled her eyes, but couldn't prevent a slight flush from creeping up her neck.

Jane belatedly remembered he'd cast Lisbon in the role of royal French beauty not a moment ago. He hastily added, "And for conning rich lords out of their most valuable family heirlooms, of course."

Lisbon relaxed. "Of course."

Xxx

They passed the next couple of hours in the kind of easy companionship he realized he'd come to rely on with Lisbon. Challenging conversation, light banter, a healthy dose of mutual teasing. A peaceful quiet filled the spaces between their exchanges. Lisbon was certainly not the type to chatter for chatter's sake. Just as he did on late nights in the office, he found her quiet, steady presence a restful influence. She truly was excellent company. There was no one else he'd rather kidnap on a Saturday afternoon, really.

When he noticed she was clearly longing for a mid-afternoon jolt of caffeine, he steered her to the museum café. He bought her an over-priced latte and delivered it to her at the little table he'd commandeered for them.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, accepting the cardboard cup and curling her fingers around it.

"You're very welcome," he said, pleased. He rocked on his heels and looked over his shoulder. "Will you be all right here for a few minutes?" he asked, bouncing a little on his toes. "I'd like to look around the gift shop for a few minutes."

She waved him off. "Go," she said. "I'm fine."

"Okay." He paused. "Let me know if you need help uncovering any more terrorist plots."

"Hush," she said, throwing a crumpled up napkin at him and making a face. He chuckled and headed to the gift shop.

Once there, he paused at a rack of postcards and made a show of perusing them with a look of concentrated attention, sneaking periodic glances at Lisbon. Once he'd assured himself she was thoroughly engaged with her coffee and watching the passersby, he ducked out of sight and made a beeline for the back of the store and headed out the second entrance.

He tracked down their artistic friend several galleries away, this time sketching a sculpture of a very ugly but incredibly lifelike old woman. He waited for the young man to notice him.

When the artist looked up, Jane flashed him a dazzlingly bright smile. "I'd like to see it," he announced.

The artist hesitated, then wrote 'See what?' on his sketchpad.

Jane's grin widened. "I think you know what. Come on, let's have it. I want to see how good you are at working from a live model."

The artist sighed and flipped over the last two pages of his sketchbook, revealing a portrait of a woman, head and shoulders.

"Ah, excellent," Jane said, delighted. He gestured to the sketchbook. "May I?"

The artist hesitated again, then grudgingly handed the sketchbook over.

Jane took it by the edges, careful not to smudge any of the sketches inside. He studied the sketch in question intently, noting the play of shadow and light in the subject's eyes. Yes, the young man certainly was talented. No doubt about it. The dark curls tumbling over her shoulders, the delicate bone structure belying the woman's iron strength… it was all there. The full mouth, the arch of her brow—it was Lisbon to a T. But where the artist had really excelled was in the eyes. The gray pencil sketch didn't reveal the rich green color, but it didn't matter. The artist had caught the way that when the light hit them, those eyes were unfathomable. Light and deep, profound compassion and understanding gazing out at him, clear and direct, yet still concealing some mystery that lurked in their depths. One he'd had yet to unravel, even after all this time.

Jane stared at the sketch a long time. He was only roused from his admiration of the portrait when the artist nudged him and gestured towards a note on a loose sheet of sketch paper.

Jane squinted down at it. 'What do you think?' it read.

Jane looked back at the sketch and didn't answer right away.

"How much do you want for it?" he asked finally, surprising both himself and the artist.

The artist shook his head and wrote another note. He pushed it towards Jane. 'It's not for sale.'

Jane felt a stab of irritation that he recognized was entirely out of proportion to the young man's response. He pasted on a cheerful smile. "Come now. You're a student. Probably up to your neck in debt, staying in a crappy basement apartment, and living off ramen and peanut butter sandwiches. You could obviously use the money."

The young man shook his head stubbornly. 'I want it for my portfolio,' he wrote.

Jane could hardly blame him for this—it was a remarkable piece of work. Still, he could hardly let the sentiment stand. "I'll pay cash."

It took a lengthy amount of skillful negotiation, but eventually they reached a mutually acceptable agreement. Jane got the sketch. In exchange, he parted with an exorbitant amount of money and agreed to let the artist take a picture of the original with his cell phone so he could reference it for future studies. The bargain struck, Jane clutched the sketch protectively and shook the young man's hand, wishing him the best of luck in his artistic career. Hopefully his unexpected windfall today would set him up nicely with some good quality art supplies to keep building his portfolio, Jane thought wryly.

Jane headed back to the gift shop. He spent a few minutes examining the selection, then headed to the cash register.

He emerged from the gift shop with a large gift bag emblazoned with the museum's logo and headed back to Lisbon.

He greeted her with a smile. "Hey. Ready to go?"

"Sure." She threw away her empty coffee cup and they walked together towards the museum exit.

"So," she said, casting a sidelong glance at the gift bag he carried. "What'd you get?"

He cast his own glance back at her and raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it obvious?"

She nudged him with her elbow. "Come on, Jane. What's in the bag?"

"It's a souvenir shop, Lisbon," Jane said, shaking the bag a little. "Obviously, what's in the bag is…souvenirs."

"Planning to decorate the area around your couch with a few more reproductions of European masterpieces?"

He grinned at her. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the walk back to the car. Lisbon was clearly dying to know what he'd bought, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much she wanted to know. Watching her struggle with herself on this point was highly entertaining.

He didn't have to wait long before her curiosity got the better of her. They'd barely got their seatbelts on when she turned towards him. "Come on, Jane," she said, attempting a semblance of her 'don't mess with me' look but undermining it with a slight pout he was certain she was unaware of. "What's in the bag?"

He paused. "You really want to know what's in the bag?"

She huffed in exasperation. "Why else would I ask?"

"Very well," he conceded. "I'll show you."

He made a production of pulling the first item out of the bag. "Ta da!" he said proudly, holding up a thick hardbound volume for inspection.

"'Ships on the Open Sea,'" she read from the cover. "'An examination of seascapes by the Dutch masters of the seventeenth century. Wow, Jane," she remarked. "Some really fascinating reading material you've got yourself there."

"I thought so," Jane said airily. He pulled the second item out of the bag and handed it to her. "This one's for you."

She blinked in surprise. "For me?"

"Of course," he said, starting the car and backing out of the parking spot. "You need a souvenir, too."

She hesitated. Turned the tissue wrapped parcel over in her hands. "You didn't have to do that."

"Nonsense," he said, pulling out of the parking lot. "I wanted to. Go on. Open it." He flashed her a grin. "You know you want to."

She gingerly unwrapped the tissue as though she were expecting a bunch of live snakes to jump out at her from under the wrappings. None did. Instead, a simple wooden box emerged from the white tissue paper. The box was about a foot wide, half again as high, and maybe eight inches deep. Delicately carved leaves and vines inlaid on the top panel dipped and swirled their way across the lid of the box. It was a perfect reproduction of a wooden chest she'd admired from a special exhibit on Indonesian woodworking they'd come across in the last hour of their exploration of the museum's galleries.

Lisbon turned the box over wonderingly. "It's beautiful," she said softly.

"Glad you like it," Jane said, pleased.

She hesitated. "I really shouldn't—"

"Woman, if you say a single word about not being able to accept it for some silly bureaucratic reason, I will pitch that box into the San Francisco Bay," he warned. "Just say 'thank you, Jane' and call it good."

She bit her lip. "Thank you, Jane."

He nodded, satisfied. "You're very welcome."

She looked down at the box in her lap. "What am I supposed to put in it?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you like. Letters, maybe."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, Jane. This is the perfect place to store my American Express statements."

"I'm not talking about _bills_ , Lisbon," Jane said, exasperated. "I'm talking about _letters_. That box is a perfect place to keep treasured keepsakes. You could keep love letters in there."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

"What, no love letters you've been hoarding away all these years as mementos of lost loves?" he teased.

She scowled and flicked a bit of tissue at him, hitting him on the shoulder so he could feel the effect of her displeasure without causing him to be so distracted that he couldn't stay focused on the road.

He glanced at her. "Cheer up, Lisbon. There's always hope. Maybe some poor bastard will be busy pining away for you in years to come and will send you dozens of letters in a pathetic attempt to express his undying devotion to you."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon said, unimpressed.

Jane shrugged. "Okay, then maybe you'll just get a pen pal."

She glanced at him. "A pen pal?"

"Yes. Surely you had one as a child? Someone from a far off land who tells you about his life, hoping to hear about your life in return."

Lisbon looked down at the box. "I wonder if I could fit my gun in here."

Jane laughed.

Xxx

Jane pulled up to Lisbon's apartment a little after five o clock. "Here you are. Safe and sound," he said with a smile.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, tracing her fingers over the box still in her lap.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Did I do a good job of making it up to you for the whole Orlov thing? Am I forgiven?"

She looked over at him, her expression unreadable. Then her mouth curved into a slow smile. "You haven't even begun to make it up to me, Patrick Jane."

"But I am forgiven, right?" Jane pressed.

She just shook her head, but she was smiling, so Jane knew that he was. "Thanks for taking me to the museum, Jane," she said. She lifted the box. "And for the souvenir." She hesitated. "I had a good time," she added grudgingly, as though she wasn't sure she ought to reward him with this information.

"It was my pleasure, Teresa," he said quietly, so she would know he meant it.

Her eyes met his. Her mouth parted softly. He experienced a dizzy-making moment where he had the insane feeling that he was on a date that he really, really did not want to end. That blush started to creep up Lisbon's neck again. She looked away hastily.

She fumbled for the door handle, flustered. "See you on Monday," she muttered to the door handle, and hastened to make her escape.

He gave himself a little shake and regained his equilibrium. "See you Monday!" he called after her.

She waved without turning around. She kept her eyes fixed determinedly ahead, the wooden box tucked under her arm.

He waited until he could see she'd made it safely inside, then resisted the temptation to stare at her lit windows for a glimpse of her through the curtains. He pointed the car towards the CBI.

He didn't feel like staying at the hotel tonight.

Xxx

He resisted temptation again when he got to the CBI, bypassing Lisbon's office and the enticing prospect of a couch that smelled like her. He settled on his own couch instead, swinging his feet up so he could lie comfortably while he read about the Dutch masters.

He opened the book to the first chapter. His mind wouldn't settle to the task straight away, however. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a more enjoyable day. The Moro stared down at him from the opposite wall, her smile serene and knowing.

Jane looked at her for a moment, studying her intently. Then he flipped to the back of the book about the Dutch masters and pulled out the pencil sketch he'd tucked away there for safe-keeping. He looked at the sketch, then back at the Moro.

She _was_ beautiful.

But she had nothing on Teresa Lisbon.

[End scene]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N2: I ended up doing more research for this chapter than I normally ever bother doing for any of my writing. The paintings I reference in the chapter are real and are at the Museum of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco, though their locations within the museum are entirely made up. So if anyone is bored enough and so inclined, you could look up the paintings as a visual reference. And let me know what you think of the selections. :)

A/N3: When I decided to have Jane pick out a souvenir for Lisbon, my head canon is that the box he selected is the box she stores her letters in during 6x09 (see note above about self-indulgent fluff). The box in my story bears no physical resemblance to the box in the episode, but if you feel like joining my fluffy head canon, that was the intent behind the idea.


	14. 1x14: Crimson Casanova

A/N: To those of you who celebrate, Merry Christmas, Mentalistas! If you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you are at least enjoying a cozy day off work or school with your families. Hoping you're all warm and happy on this midwinter day. :)

xxx

"You mind?"

Jane looked up and saw Fricke gesturing to the seat next to him at the bar. He looked down at his club soda and lemon and hid a grimace. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with Fricke, but the man looked rather downtrodden in his terrible velvet blazer, so he kept his voice neutral. "Not at all."

Fricke seated himself but didn't offer any additional conversation.

Jane glanced at him. "Rough night?"

Fricke attempted to disguise his misery with false bravado. "Not bad. A couple good phone numbers." His eyes sought Katie and lingered. She met his gaze, then turned away. Fricke looked down at his hands, then pasted on an arrogant smirk he couldn't quite carry off. "Yep," he said, his mouth stretching the smirk but still not achieving the care-free look he was aiming for. "Two veeery tasty numbers."

Jane considered these words. Then he calmly threw his drink in Fricke's face. "I wish you'd stop being so damn stupid. You have a good woman over there who knows you and still loves you." He left the critical words unsaid. _What are you waiting for?_ Fricke, stunned and sopping, heard them anyway. He looked at Jane in disbelief for a second, then wiped his dripping face and went to talk to Katie.

At last. A little peace and quiet. Jane stared at his empty glass and brooded over Haightly's lack of remorse for his actions. The actions that had led to the death of Claire Wolcott.

 _I'm not sorry…It's not like anybody cares—_

 _I care._ _ **She was a living person**_ _._

He'd extracted an apology from Haightly in the end, but as far as Jane was concerned, it was too little, too late.

A low, sultry voice interrupted his maudlin thoughts. "Excuse me."

Jane turned to see a very attractive woman in a low cut red dress standing behind him.

She smiled at him invitingly. "You looked kind of lonely. My friend and I were wondering if you'd like to join us."

Jane looked past her to see another equally attractive woman sitting at a table nearby. She gave him a little wave.

He automatically raised his hand to wave back. "Hi." He turned to his companion and smiled ruefully. He held up his hand. The one with the wedding band on it. He didn't think twice. "I'm sorry. I'm married."

She gave him a disappointed smile, and a little shrug, then turned and walked away.

Jane turned back to the bar and ordered another club soda. Once he'd received it, he stared into the bottom of his glass again. Now, where was he? Ah, yes, peace and quiet. And brooding.

"There you are." Lisbon plunked herself down in the seat next to him, not waiting for an invitation. "I've been looking all over for you."

Jane caught the faint scent of cinnamon drifting towards him and his heart lifted despite itself. He looked over at her and smiled a little wryly. "Here I am."

She frowned at the glass in his hand. "Drinking on the job?"

Wordlessly, he slid the glass over to her.

She raised her eyebrows, then cautiously lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. Her eyebrows crinkled in surprise. "Club soda?"

"With a twist," he confirmed.

Her mouth quirked. "Fancy."

Jane idly watched her mouth and asked on impulse, "Can I buy you one?"

"Sure, why not?" Lisbon sighed. "The rest of the team already left, and it's been a long day."

"It has," he agreed, gesturing for the bartender.

"And you do owe me one for making me deal with Wolcott and his thousand dollar an hour lawyer," she finished.

He smiled. "Touché, my dear."

Lisbon accepted her club soda and slid his back to him. Jane rested his hand along the back of her chair and stared at his glass, wondering if he would taste her on it if he took another drink.

His eyes drifted over to the table with the two inviting women at it. Their heads were bent together and they were sending covert glances in his direction. But they weren't looking at him. They were shooting envious glances at Lisbon.

They thought she was his wife, he realized with a shock. He straightened and hastily removed his arm from the back of her chair.

Lisbon looked around and followed his gaze. Her eyes came to rest on the two women and lingered for a moment before she turned away and returned her attention to her club soda. "Those are a couple of good looking accordions over there," she said lightly.

Jane stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I saw the one in red talking to you earlier," she said. "They seemed pretty interested in getting to know you."

He shook his head. "Not interested."

"You didn't even want to have a drink with them?"

"I'd rather have a drink with you," Jane said unthinkingly. Too late, he realized what a loaded statement that was. It was true, though.

Lisbon looked at him intently. "You okay?"

"Of course," he said, busying himself with his club soda again. "Never better."

"You seemed a little worked up earlier," she said gently.

Jane stared at his drink. _I think he should be sorry._ "I'm fine."

She wasn't buying it, but she didn't press the matter. "Okay."

He turned to her, wanting to get his mind off his own depressing thoughts. "You know what my favorite part of this case was?"

Lisbon arched one elegant brow. "Assaulting a personal friend of the Attorney General?"

"Tweaking the nose of a pompous buffoon," Jane corrected. "And no, that wasn't it."

"Making Cho go clothes shopping?" she guessed.

"No, although watching him in action was highly entertaining."

Lisbon smiled. "No business like Cho business."

"Indeed," Jane agreed.

"So what was it then?" Lisbon prompted him.

A slow grin broke out over his face. "Watching you interrogate Fricke about his life as a pickup artist."

She snorted. "You mean his 'total lifestyle?'"

Jane grinned wider. "You should have seen the look on your face when he started talking about 'practicing his passion.'"

"He's quite a character," Lisbon said dryly.

"I think he'll be changing his ways soon enough," Jane said, watching Fricke talking earnestly to Katie, his head bowed.

Lisbon turned her head to see what he was looking at. She frowned. "You think she'll take him back after all the crap he's pulled?"

Jane shrugged. "I think he regrets his actions. And she loves him, so who knows? Maybe there's a happy ending in the cards for them after all."

"I hope so," Lisbon said, sounding dubious. "If they do get back together, at least the rest of womankind will be spared having to deal with him from now on."

Jane chuckled. "True."

Lisbon finished her club soda and set her glass down on the bar. "Shall we go? It's late."

Jane thought about returning to Sacramento and going back to his dingy motel room. He glanced up at the night sky, glittering with stars. Then he looked back at his companion.

"Let me buy you another club soda," he offered impulsively. The evening was crisp and cool and clean and he didn't want it to end.

Lisbon's lips quirked. "Big spender."

"Come on, Lisbon," he urged. "Live a little."

"All right," she conceded. "Just one more."

"Excellent." Jane turned back to the bar and signaled for two more of the same.

His fingers brushed against hers when he handed her the fresh glass. He paused and looked at her, studying her closely. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself,_ he told himself. _You have a good woman who knows you and still tolerates you._

That was a precious thing. He really shouldn't take it for granted. He shouldn't take _her_ for granted.

Wordlessly, he raised his glass to her. Lisbon raised her glass in turn.

They clinked their glasses together and drank.


	15. 1x15: Scarlett Fever

Jane leaned against the door frame to Lisbon's office, holding a cup of tea and saucer as he watched her work in the dim evening light.

She tried pretending she didn't notice him, but of course, he could out wait her any day of the week. She'd cave before his tea even got close to going cold.

Predictably, after only a few breaths, she blew out a frustrated sigh and looked up. "What?" she demanded.

"You know," he drawled. "I've been thinking."

A muscle in her jaw ticked. He watched her internally debate which scenario would result in the least annoyance to herself—indulging his obvious desire for her to ask what he'd been thinking about, or pretending she had no interest whatsoever in what he was thinking about.

Of course, he could have just told her straight out what he'd been thinking, but what would be the fun in that? Riling up Lisbon was one of the very few pleasures in his life these days—he wasn't about to deny himself that indulgence.

"About what?" she asked grudgingly.

He grinned inwardly. Smart woman. She knew he wouldn't give up and leave her alone when his object was clearly to engage her. She'd learned by this point that if she tried to disengage, he'd only make more of a nuisance of himself to secure her attention. Indulging him wouldn't achieve her preferred outcome of being left alone to finish her work in peace, but it would waste less time.

"I was just thinking," he repeated. "That you're actually much more like the Lone Ranger than I am."

She exhaled through her nose. "I swear to God, Jane, if this conversation involves you comparing me to Tonto in some way, so help me—"

"I meant nothing of the kind," he protested. "Didn't I just say you were like the Lone Ranger? Besides, what's so bad about Tonto? He's brave and loyal."

"He's a sidekick," she said flatly. "And his name means 'moron' in Spanish."

"Fun fact, Lisbon—translated from the local Native American language, the word 'Tonto' actually means 'Wild One.' When they dubbed the show into Spanish, they changed the name to 'Toro.' Which means 'bull.'" He paused. "Actually, given your stubborn nature, perhaps there is some room for comparison—"

She glared at him. "Fine. How am I like the Lone Ranger?"

"Well, he's an excellent shot, for one thing. And always has at least two guns on his person."

"I'm a cop, Jane. Carrying a gun is part of the job."

"Another point of similarity. You're both members of an elite statewide law enforcement agency."

"Isn't the Lone Ranger kind of a rogue element? Off doing his own thing rather than actually functioning as part of a legitimate part of the justice system?" Lisbon countered.

"He cares more about truth and justice than bureaucratic details," Jane said dismissively.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now you're accusing me of being a glorified paper pusher?"

"I am not!" Jane said, exasperated. "I was making my point. You and the Lone Ranger both prize truth and honor over personal accolades."

Lisbon blinked. "Oh," she said, disarmed.

He peered at her closely. "Why are you so grumpy? We closed the case. And you seemed amused when Rigsby went off with his fierce-looking cougar date."

She frowned. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's been a long day and you had that 'I'm going to annoy Lisbon for my own amusement' look in your eye. Experience has trained me to automatically go into defense mode when I see that look."

"I don't annoy you purely for my own amusement, Lisbon." He took a sip of his tea. "I annoy you for our mutual amusement."

"Gee, that makes me feel so much better," Lisbon said dryly.

"You know," he said speculatively. "You'd look quite fetching in a domino mask and a white cowboy hat."

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

She _would_ look good in a white hat. For a moment, he lost himself in a brief fantasy of Lisbon as a badass cowgirl, the bane of outlaws in the Old West. He recalled himself. "With a red kerchief tied around your neck," he added, gesturing to his own neck.

She threw a pencil at him, but he'd succeeded at making her blush, so he counted it as a win.

"I heard you with the kid, you know," she said abruptly, after he'd made a show of ducking from the slender wooden missile. "Oscar. You were really good with him."

Jane shrugged. "He's a good kid."

"Yeah." She picked up another pencil and started fiddling with it. "That whole Three Musketeers bit—that was sweet of you."

Jane wasn't used to Lisbon using this word in any context, let alone applying it to him. He couldn't decide whether to preen obnoxiously or let her see how touched he was at her assessment, even though he really hadn't done anything special. Oscar _was_ a good kid. "Aw, Teresa," he said, grinning. "You think I'm sweet?" Obnoxious was generally the safer course when it came to Lisbon, all things considered.

"Yeah, well," she grumbled. "Sometimes. On very rare occasions."

"Maybe we should incorporate this element of my personality into our team name," he said. "So everyone will know up front what they're getting when they cross paths with us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Our team name?"

"Yes, our partnerly nickname, the one that describes our respective personalities, yet also captures the essence of us as a dynamic duo." He gestured between them. "We could be Sweet'n'Tart."

She shook her head, smiling. "You know what? I think I'll stick with the Lone Ranger metaphor."

Pleased, he smiled back. He loved being silly with her. "It is an apt one," he said. "The whole point of the 'Who was that masked man, I never got a chance to thank him' thing was central to the theme of the whole show. The Lone Ranger didn't do his good deeds for fame or the gratification of personal vanity. He risked himself out of selflessness and a desire to see justice served, not for thanks." He retrieved her pencil from the floor and placed it gently on the desk before her. "So you see," he said quietly. "It's a far more appropriate comparison to you than me, my dear."

Lisbon's lips parted softly in surprise. "I don't know," she said softly, looking up at him, her lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile. "You have your moments."

Her eyes looked temptingly luminous in the dim light. Jane decided it was time for a strategic retreat. He rocked back on his heels and gestured to the stack of files on her desk. "You sticking around here for a while?"

Lisbon looked at the files with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah. I've got to go to court tomorrow, so I need to get a jumpstart on this."

"I'll leave you to it, then." He tipped an imaginary hat at her. "Good night, fair maiden."

She grinned. "Night…Tonto."

Well, he should have expected that one.


	16. 1x16: Bloodshot

A/N: This is one of my favorite episodes, so I was really excited to write this installment, but when it came time to get started, I had a hard time deciding how to get started because there are already so many great tags out there for this episode. Ultimately I thought to myself, how can I add to this already wonderfully shippy episode? Why, by adding even more shippy scenes, of course! I'm shameless. Also, as previously stated, I adore writing Pining!Jane. Hope you like it!

xxx

Jane greeted Tommy and pulled into the CBI parking lot, feeling cheerful. Selfishly, he hoped the team didn't catch any new cases. The unit was mired in audit work, which meant it would be a perfect day for a nice long nap. When he woke up, he figured they'd be so desperate for a break from the monotony that they'd be sure to appreciate any amusing scenarios he happened to come up with. He already had the perfect trick with which to torment Rigsby in mind.

He also had a half-formed plan to drag Lisbon out for lunch at a new Italian place he'd discovered a few blocks away. He'd calculated his odds of success would be high if he napped in the morning. She'd be much more amenable if she felt she'd made considerable progress on her backlog without him wandering in to distract her throughout the morning.

He idly considered the possibility of persuading her to go to a late showing of 'Notorious' with him at Tower Theater that evening. Her sense of responsibility would likely keep her at work late so she could make sure the team stayed on track to complete the audit on time, but a full day's worth of paperwork would make her tired and irritable enough to crave a distraction from the tedious assignment at the end of a long day. The Lisbon calculus involved was tricky, but he thought that if he brought her Thai take out before the show, he could tip the scales in his favor.

The sight of Van Pelt delicately flirting with a young man by the coffee cart distracted him from his plotting. He smirked to himself. Oh, yes. This was going to be a fun day.

When he entered the bullpen after making himself a cup of tea (first things first, after all), he wasted no time in drawing Rigsby's attention to the cause of Van Pelt's extra sunny smile that morning. If she'd heard him, Lisbon would probably have scolded him for needling Rigsby about such a sensitive subject, but what Lisbon didn't appreciate was that Rigsby needed a little goading to prompt him into action. A blind man could see that Van Pelt and coffee cart man weren't going to last, and Rigsby and Van Pelt would be a good match. Since they both seemed overly attuned to those silly bureaucratic rules about agents not dating one another, clearly it was up to Jane to give them a little push in the right direction.

His phone beeped, signaling an incoming text message. Since all the people who would normally text him were currently within a twenty-five yard radius of him, he opened the message with some curiosity, still smirking over Rigsby's predictable reaction to the news about coffee cart man.

When he read the message, he set down his tea and saucer with a clatter. Before he'd even consciously processed the full significance of the threat, his feet automatically carried him to the place he instinctively associated with safety and security. "Lisbon!"

He held out the phone as he met her in the doorway of her office. Bemused, she took the phone from him and read the message aloud. "There is a very large bomb nearby. Are you smart enough to find it?"

Despite the imminent threat of being blown up, Lisbon remained calm. She called the bomb squad and told Jane to pull the fire alarm so everyone would get out of the building as quickly as possible. He hastened to obey, then hurried back to her side. She must have sensed his anxiety, because she kept talking as they exited the building with Minelli, her tone even and measured as she reminded him it was entirely possible the threat was a hoax.

Jane was not completely reassured. Agent Lisbon, cool, competent team leader may think receiving a bomb threat was all in a day's work, but Jane found the experience of receiving a threat from a would be terrorist to his personal communication device distinctly unsettling.

His agitation increased when they made it out of the building. _Are you smart enough to find it?_

Was this Red John, changing the game? The taunt about his intelligence, that sounded like him. But the clue didn't strike him as consistent with Red John's style. If Red John had sent him a threat, it would have been far more subtle and obscure. The bomb, too, was a blunt, inelegant choice. Jane felt that if Red John ever threatened him with a bomb, it would be a targeted culmination of a far more elaborate game.

His brain clicked into gear, parsing the information he had available to him. The bomb was nearby. He left Lisbon and Minelli still talking and started walking. He peered into the windows of every truck or van he passed as he walked by.

Lisbon, belatedly noticing that he'd left her and Minelli, followed a few paces behind. Catching up to him, she entreated him to abandon his search and return with her to safety.

Picking up his pace, he explained his reasoning to her. "The text said a very large bomb. A large bomb could only be transported in a large car. They didn't say in the CBI, they said nearby. Ergo, the state parking lot. Simple."

"Exactly," Lisbon said, exasperated. "They challenged you to an easy puzzle. They wanted you to find the bomb."

"If there is a bomb," Jane countered. "It could be a hoax, like you said." But he kept checking windows as he said it.

Lisbon's phone rang. She answered and he heard her assuring Minelli she would wrangle her wayward consultant and drag him back to the designated safety area by the ear if necessary.

He peered into the window of a tan van. Droplets of condensation dotted the insides of its windows. His heart rate accelerated.

He checked the next window, pressing his face to the glass to see better.

A man, his head bowed, knelt chained next to a bomb, its timer ticking down the seconds at an alarming rate. He looked up and saw Jane. His forehead bore the words, 'Ur next.' At the sight of a stranger, the man's defeated resignation vanished, replaced by a frantic urgency to claim this last, unlooked for shred of hope. Duct tape over his mouth rendered the words of his choked cries for help incomprehensible, but their meaning was unmistakable. Scrambling for purchase in the confined space, he yanked at his restraints. The frenetic clanking of the chain binding the man to the van turned the contents of Jane's stomach to acid.

"Lisbon!" Jane shouted. "I found him!"

He raced to the back of the van and seized the door handle. Locked. He rattled it, desperate to free the man from this torture chamber on wheels. He checked the timer. Nineteen seconds. He met the man's eyes, his fear palpable as Jane pounded against the window to no avail. Jane's eyes darted to the timer again. Thirteen seconds.

He ran to the front of the car and tried the handle on the driver's side. Locked again. Mad with frustration, Jane pounded uselessly on the window again. No, that wasn't going to work. He had to be smart, god dammit. He turned to Lisbon. "Shoot it out," he said urgently, pointing at the window.

"I—I can't," Lisbon said, her voice both pained and urgent. "There's no time."

Heedlessly, Jane returned to the back of the van and beat against the windows yet again. There _was_ time. He just had to be smart enough—

"Jane, come on, let's go." Lisbon seized his arm, attempting to pull him away.

He shook her off, his gaze riveted on the man bound next to the bomb. Seven seconds.

"Come on, Jane, run!"

He couldn't stand the notion of leaving the man there to die alone. For half a second, he thought maybe he should just stay. It wouldn't be the worst way to die. It would be swift, at least. He and this stranger could die together, with a sort of strange kinship forged from that shared experience.

Lisbon's voice was desperate now. "Jane, run, I mean it! Come on!"

Her fingers tightened on his wrist. He resisted, but she only pulled harder. The damnably stubborn woman wasn't going to leave him, he finally realized. And that meant he had to abandon this man to his fate, because while the loss of his own life would be no great tragedy, the possibility of Lisbon dying because he hadn't been smart enough to solve the puzzle in time was unacceptable.

He met the man's eyes again. The man read Jane's guilt and sorrow on his face and knew what it meant. Jane saw the exact moment he accepted his own death, his head sinking into weary resignation once more.

"Jane! Come on!" Lisbon seized his hand and pulled again. Four seconds.

Jane ran.

Now assured that he was following her, Lisbon broke away from him for several steps, pulling slightly ahead as Jane hesitated and risked a look back.

He felt the explosion before he heard it. A wall of heat slammed through him. He only became conscious that his feet had left the ground when his shoulder smashed into the unforgiving metal hood of a car on the way back down. His head bounced off the windshield. He tumbled to the ground, landing with a painful thump.

Then Lisbon was there again, her strong hands on his shoulders, then his sides, helping him to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist as he staggered, trying to regain his balance. When he stumbled, her other hand pressed into his hip as a counterpoint, anchoring him.

"I'm okay," he said, winded.

"You all right?" she said, a little breathless herself.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," he repeated. He bent over and pressed his hands to his knees, trying to get his bearings.

He heard a rustle that told him Lisbon had pulled her phone out of her pocket, but her other hand was still on his back, grounding him.

A beep. "I need an ambulance, now," he heard Lisbon command into the phone. Her hand slipped away from his back.

"No, no ambulance," he said quickly. He blinked into the darkness, trying to clear his vision. He pressed a hand to his face, feeling strangely disoriented without her touch as a reference point. "I've just got something in my eyes." And his head hurt. Quite a lot, actually. He blinked rapidly, hoping the stinging sensation would go away.

He could feel Lisbon's eyes on him. He knew the exact mix of worry and compassion in her bottomless green eyes, but he couldn't see them, and it was this that finally forced him to recognize the truth.

"I can't see." Panic seized him. "I can't see!"

Lisbon crooked her fingers around his elbow to steady him. He straightened, not wanting to betray how comforting he found her presence to orient himself around. When she shifted, he followed her instinctively so as not to lose her touch.

The ambulance arrived in record time. He attempted to persuade Lisbon that he didn't need an ambulance, but Lisbon proved intractable on the subject of head trauma. When he resisted the paramedics' efforts to bundle him into the back of the vehicle, Lisbon told him to stop being a pain in the ass and helped him in herself. Her hand on his arm, she briskly informed the paramedics she would be riding to the hospital with him.

She got him settled on the gurney, sarcastically commenting that he might as well lie down, since that was all he ever did during the day anyway. He found her snarkiness absurdly reassuring. He submitted to the gentle press of her hands and allowed himself to be eased into a reclining position.

She let go of him then, turning to ask the paramedics something.

Jane bore this as well as he could, but his heart rate escalated. His lungs, independently of his brain, suddenly started pumping air in and out twice as fast. He concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Lisbon took her hand in his. "Hey," she said softly, giving it a squeeze. "You're gonna be fine. It's going to be all right."

He didn't answer, preoccupied by all the what ifs unhelpfully supplied by his brain, clicking through his mind like a slide carousel. But his heart rate slowed fractionally.

She held his hand the rest of the ride.

xxx

Lisbon was much less soft and gentle after he managed to piss off the registering nurse, three orderlies, and the attending resident. When the specialist came in to discuss the results of the CAT scan, Jane had had enough of being poked and prodded. He just wanted to know why he couldn't see.

The doctor explained that his vision was being obscured by blood clots floating around in the blood vessels around his eyes, but seemed curiously unperturbed by this fact. Blood clots in general were never good, were they? And anything floating around in blood vessels near one's eyes sounded downright alarming to Jane, but the doctor remained maddeningly calm. She even attempted an unfortunate pun in an effort to lighten the moment. Wait and see, indeed.

Jane's patience snapped. "Humor. Great. Everybody loves a witty doctor in times of trouble. You know, I've heard enough." He was tired of hearing himself discussed like he was a small child. "Do you think you could take this conversation outside, please?"

The doctor assured him the blindness was temporary and advised she would check in later.

Lisbon thanked the doctor as she took her leave. He felt her warmth move closer to him. He experienced a fleeting hope that she might take his hand again, but this brief fantasy was rudely quashed by a none too gentle pinch to his arm. "Ow!"

"I'll do worse if you don't stop mouthing off to people who are trying to help you," Lisbon said, utterly without remorse.

"You pinched me," Jane grumbled, feeling decidedly put out.

He heard footsteps, followed by a familiar voice. "How's he doing?" Cho asked.

"Guess what?" Lisbon said, her voice laced with a familiar mix of exasperation and annoyance. "He's a bad patient."

"I'm not a bad patient," Jane said petulantly. "She's a bad visitor."

Bad visitor or no, he found himself disappointed when Lisbon left with Cho after discussing the case for a few minutes. Left alone, he had nothing to do but think. Hospital staff came in and out, but aside from these tiresome interruptions, he whiled away the hours in the darkness, oppressed by an unceasing onslaught of what ifs.

What if the doctor was wrong? What if he never recovered his sight? He relied on his compulsive observations of others to distract him from his own thoughts. He couldn't bear an eternity of being trapped inside his own mind. He couldn't imagine a more perfectly devised version of hell.

What if he couldn't work for the CBI anymore? He suppressed a pang at the thought of not seeing Lisbon—that is, the team—every day. He glumly concluded that he'd have next to no chance of catching Red John without his sight or the team to help him. If he couldn't solve murders for the CBI anymore, he would be alone and without purpose.

Before he could follow that depressing line of thought any further, a gentle voice interrupted his brooding. "Hey," Lisbon said softly from the doorway.

Relief flooded every fiber of his being. He turned his head towards her instinctively, a small smile gracing his lips at the sound of her voice. "Lisbon," he said, making no effort to hide how pleased he was to see—er, hear her. "What brings you here at this late hour?"

"I wanted to check in on you," Lisbon said. He heard her cross the room to stand by his side. "How are you feeling?"

Jane's head still ached fiercely and his shoulder was sore where he had landed on it. "Right as rain."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Liar."

"I don't suppose you brought me a midnight snack?" Jane said hopefully. "They tried to give me the most atrocious imitation of a Salisbury steak for dinner."

"I brought you a cup of tea," Lisbon said. She took his hand and pressed a warm paper cup into it.

"That was sweet of you," he said, pleased. He pretended to fumble the paper cup slightly so he could prolong the brush of her fingers against his.

"Don't get your hopes up," Lisbon said. "It's from the vending machine down the hall."

His face fell. "Oh."

"This is where you're supposed to tell me that it's the thought that counts," Lisbon said, amused.

He took a cautious sip. Bleh. Well, it was hot. That was about all that could be said for it. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you could have thought of an Oolong tea from that tea shop on 18th street."

"I don't think they're open this late," Lisbon said dryly.

He heard her pull a chair up next to the bed and sit down. He listened to the soft rustling of her clothing as she settled into it. "What time is it, anyway?"

"A little after two am," she told him.

He hadn't realized it was quite that late. He frowned. "You should be home sleeping. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," she assured him. "We had to go to a club to question a suspect, so it was a late night to start. He assaulted Rigsby when we tried to question him, so we ended up arresting him and taking him back to holding. We just got done processing him. I thought I'd stop by and check in on you on my way home."

They'd been caught in the explosion just after nine am. "That's a long day for you," he commented, taking another sip of his terrible tea.

"Since you're stuck in a hospital bed and unlikely to cause any major incidents at the office tomorrow morning, maybe I can afford to come in late and sleep in," she teased.

"I hope you do," Jane said. He knew she wouldn't, though. Her resolution to talk to the suspect that night told him that she was determined to catch the person who had done this as soon as possible. She'd be back at the office by eight the next morning, prepared to chase down and eliminate any further threats to him. He found the thought oddly touching.

"We'll see," Lisbon said noncommittally. "I don't want to miss Cho's interrogation."

"Who's the suspect?"

"Guy named Terry Andrews," Lisbon said. "He used to work with Medina." The sound of her hair swishing around her shoulders as she shifted in the chair distracted him from inquiring further about Andrews' arrest.

"You took your hair down," Jane observed. He imagined it falling around her shoulders, loose and wavy. "It was in a ponytail earlier."

He could hear her decide not to ask him how he'd known she'd released her hair from the confines of its elastic. She hesitated, clearly weighing whether she should reward his nosiness with an explanation. Only Teresa Lisbon would bother guarding such a trivial decision from the possibility of deeper inspection, Jane thought to himself. As though even the tiniest insight into her thought processes was a breach of intimacy she was determined not to permit without careful consideration. "It gets heavy," she said finally. "Towards the end of a long day, it starts to give me a headache."

"Ah," Jane said. He thought about offering to massage her scalp for her, but somehow inviting her to sit on his bed and burying his fingers through her hair in this quiet room in the small hours of the morning seemed like a bad idea. He cleared his throat. "Did you find anything else on Medina yet?"

"We talked to his widow. She gave us a line on Andrews. Haven't got much else yet," she admitted.

Silence descended. Lisbon's breathing changed, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. He could feel her tension from three feet away. "You're thinking about Medina," he stated.

"Yeah," Lisbon said, her voice heavy. "I can't stop thinking about the look on his face. He was so scared."

Jane couldn't get the man's face out of his head either. Specifically, the look in his eyes when he'd realized they weren't going to be able to save him. "Yeah."

"We're trained for this type of situation," Lisbon said. Her voice was too controlled, too quiet. "The protocol is very clear. If a hostage is in a situation where saving him would put others at risk, the officer in charge is supposed to get as many people as possible to safety, regardless of the consequences to the hostage." He heard the swish of her hair again, signaling a shake of her head. "Doesn't make it any easier to be the one who makes the call to leave an innocent man to die, thought."

"You did the right thing," Jane said. "If you hadn't gotten us away, all three of us would be dead right now." He sighed. "But if it helps, I feel the same way."

"It does," she said quietly. "Thanks." A pause. "You shouldn't, though. You were the one who found him. You did everything you could to save him."

Jane frowned. If only he'd figured out the clue sooner. "Fat lot of good it did."

"It was brave, what you did," she said softly. "Trying to help him like that."

"Stupid, you mean," Jane said bitterly. His so-called bravery hadn't resulted in anything but a man's death and the loss of his own sight, as far as he could tell.

"Caring," Lisbon countered.

Jane had no defense for this unexpected charge. Disarmed, he shifted uncomfortably. "What makes you think I wasn't acting in my own self-interest?" he said weakly. "That note on his forehead—'UR Next.' I figured if I could free him, I could find out who wrote the note and make sure the guy didn't have a chance to come after me."

"Yeah," Lisbon said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're a real selfish bastard. I should have known that was what you were up to all along, risking your life like that for a stranger."

He heard her stifle a yawn. His heart ached a little. He didn't want her to leave. "It's late," he said softly. "You should go home, get some rest."

"Mm," Lisbon said, confirming his guess that she was fast approaching the point where she was in danger of becoming too sleepy to drive. "You're probably right."

She stood and stretched. The sound of her clothes rustling again followed by a barely audible hum of pleasure as she stretched her muscles formed a mental image far too enticing for Jane's liking. He pressed his lips together and studiously banished those wayward and unwelcome thoughts from his mind.

"Hey," she said, apparently reading something else entirely from his countenance. She stepped closer. He swore he could feel her hand hovering over him as she debated whether it would be safe to touch him. Was she going to punch him on the arm? She probably considered that an appropriately "colleaguey" gesture of affection. Finally her hand came down to rest on his forearm. Her strong, delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist. The sensation of her hand wrapped around his arm warmed him from the inside out. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to you, okay? We're going to get the guy who did this."

Jane nodded. There wasn't a doubt in his mind about that. He might never see again, but Lisbon and her team would make sure whoever had killed Medina would rot in jail for the rest of his natural life. He knew that as surely as he knew his next breath.

"Get some rest," she said softly.

He reached over and covered her hand with his. "You, too." He felt her skin heat beneath his fingertips. Ah ha, he thought with some gratification. He could still tell when he'd made her blush. The thought was enormously cheering.

She squeezed his arm and bade him a soft good night, then took her leave.

The room felt cold after she left. He pulled the blanket up under his chin and rubbed his arms, lingering over the place where her hand had rested.

Lisbon rarely touched him, he realized. She tolerated him invading her personal space on a routine basis, he supposed. She didn't object when he rested his hand at the small of her back or appropriated her wrist to check the time, but she rarely initiated touch, unless it was to forcibly restrain him from provoking some local bigwig or another or push him out of the way when he happened to stray into the path of danger. In fact, it was entirely possible that she'd touched him more that day than in the entirety of their acquaintance to date. Pulling him away from the bomb, then picking him up from the ground and guiding him to safety. Holding his hand in the ambulance when he betrayed his distress. He grimaced. Pinching him. That was the one he should have expected. Far more consistent with the pattern of attempting to physically influence his behavior when she deemed he'd crossed a line somewhere. In other words, she touched him when she thought he needed her to, whether for comfort or chastisement. Or saving his life, of course.

Jane wasn't sure how to feel about this. It made him aware of an imbalance in their relationship. He actively sought her touch, while she could take his or leave it.

There was that flushed skin, though, he comforted himself. That proved she wasn't completely indifferent to him. Of course, the fact that he was analyzing the balance of their touches in a hospital bed in at two thirty in the morning seemed an indication of another disturbing imbalance, but it was probably best not to dwell on that too deeply.

Still, she had come to visit him in the middle of the night.

Jane fell asleep thinking about the warm weight of her hand on his arm.

Xxx

When he woke the next morning, the nurse informed him they planned to keep him under observation for another twenty-four hours. He prodded at his tasteless oatmeal morosely, twenty-four more hours of darkness stretching out before him interminably. His neighbor in the room next door had turned up the television to an intolerable pitch. If he had to sit here all day with nothing to do but listen to that awful drivel, he'd go mad. He thought of his couch at the CBI with longing.

He wanted to go back to the CBI. At least there the sounds were familiar. The tap-tap of Grace typing. Rigsby crunching on potato chips. The sound of Cho turning the pages of his latest book. Not to mention Lisbon's dulcet tones, yelling at him for one thing or another. The click clack of her boot heels as she stomped over to kick his couch.

He applied his mind to the problem. He didn't think the team would mind if he recuperated there. Besides, he was the one who'd been blown up, hadn't he? He would undoubtedly be the person best equipped to find whoever had done this to Medina. He just needed a way around the blindness thing, and he'd be able to go on solving crimes as usual so he wouldn't go insane with boredom.

Well, it wasn't like his vision was his only source of observation. He had excellent hearing. He'd just need to tune into people's breathing patterns, the pitch of their voices when they were lying. Lisbon's voice climbing higher than usual was one of her worst tells when she tried to lie to him, for example. And he'd been able to tell when she had blushed, hadn't he? He could throw the criminals off their game by invading their personal space and getting a read of their pulses. And he'd always prided himself on his sense of smell. That could be useful.

Besides, Lisbon must be missing him by now. Probably needed a hand with the case. She'd come by late last night to tell him about the suspect, after all. Her way of hinting around without coming right out and asking. If she was resorting to showing up late and trying to bribe him with a substandard cup of tea, she was clearly desperate for him to come back to the office. The team needed him, too, he was sure. They really couldn't get along without him.

Clearly it was time for him to start thinking about how to orchestrate his escape.

xxx

"Hey!" He heard Van Pelt's voice, both exasperated and worried. Her voice came closer. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"Nope," Jane said, holding onto Officer Powell's shoulder as he tapped his way into the bullpen with his white cane.

"Yes, you are," Van Pelt contradicted him.

"No, they had enough of me," Jane said. "Can't say I blame them. Officer Powell here was kind enough to give me a ride back."

Van Pelt sounded conflicted as she addressed Officer Powell. "Thank you, I guess." Her phone beeped.

"Have a good one, Mr. Jane," Officer Powell said to him, and departed.

Van Pelt's phone beeped again. "Go ahead," Jane said. "Talk to your boyfriend. I don't mind."

"Shush," Van Pelt said, her voice exasperated again as she snapped her phone shut. This was great. He didn't even need to touch her—he could _hear_ her blush.

Jane grinned. "Why are you embarrassed?"

"I'm not," Van Pelt said quickly and untruthfully. Oh, yeah. He still had it. Human lie detector. And if his senses weren't mistaken—

"What the hell?" Lisbon demanded, her footsteps warning him of the potential of an incoming tirade.

"Doctor's orders," Jane said immediately. "She said it was the best thing for me to do, get back to work."

"She did not," Lisbon said, not taken in. "She said you insulted the entire ward and were a complete pain in the ass."

Hm. He hadn't counted on Lisbon bonding with the doctor to the extent that the woman would feel the need to call her up and tattle on him. "Meh. So?"

"So, you can't do that."

"What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and listen to television? Besides, the food was terrible."

"You need to rest," Lisbon said, her voice both gentle and pleading.

"I need to work," Jane said firmly.

Her voice was less gentle now. "You're blind."

"It's no problem, honestly," Jane argued. "My other senses are heightened. They're super-heightened. I'm like… Daredevil." Now there was a cheering thought. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said loftily, tapping his way in the direction he thought his couch was in before Lisbon had a chance to argue further.

"Okay," Lisbon said dubiously, prepared to indulge him for the time being.

"Okay," Jane said in satisfaction.

 _Clang!_ He ran his cane into something hard and metallic. Startled, he reached out to confirm the suspect's identity. Ah. One of the metal posts separating the bullpen from the hallway. He mentally reoriented himself and proceeded along on his way. He thought he felt a sharp corner brush against his arm and frowned. He must have turned a corner inadvertently. His couch was back the other way.

"Hey, Jane," Cho said from somewhere in front of him.

"Cho," he said gratefully. "How are you?"

"Fine. You on your way to the interrogation?"

Jane immediately seized upon the opportunity. "Yes."

Cho prodded one shoulder until he'd rotated thirty degrees to the left. "It's that way. First door on the left."

Good old Cho. Jane tapped his way down the hall until he found the door handle, then entered the interrogation room, reassured that he'd found the right place by the sound of Rigsby's voice asking the routine logistical questions used to establish the whereabouts of suspects at the time of the crime.

"Sorry, don't mind me," Jane said as he groped his way into the room.

"What is this?" a deep, melodious voice demanded. Jane deduced that the voice belonged to the suspect, one Mr. Terrence Andrews.

Jane ignored the question and focused on finding a chair.

"Is he blind?" the melodious voice asked Rigsby.

"Yeah," Rigsby muttered, clearly at a loss.

"Cool, huh?" Jane said. Perhaps Mr. Andrews was a Daredevil fan, too. He located a chair in the corner and dragged it over to the interrogation table, placing it next to Mr. Andrews and plonking himself down uncomfortably close to the other man. Well, uncomfortably for Mr. Andrews, anyway. Jane was perfectly comfortable, himself.

He sniffed deeply. "So. Did you kill James Medina?"

"Did I kill James Medina?" Andrews repeated. "Man, screw him. I didn't kill him. I could have, and I wanted to. But I didn't."

Jane sniffed him as he spoke. Interesting.

Andrews turned towards him. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Have we ever met before?" Jane inquired, ignoring the question.

"No," Andrews said, disarmed.

"So what happened?" Jane asked. "Why did you and Medina fight in the first place?"

"I was a junior trader with the company's program," Andrews explained. "He'd been picking on me for months. I took a job his nephew wanted. Anyway, a freaking envelope falls off his desk. 'Pick it up,' he said." Andrews voice rose in volume at the remembered outrage. "' _Pick it up_.' Like that. I don't think so. Pick it up your own damn self, I said. Big deal. But I guess he figures—" Jane flinched as the sound of a quick _snap, snap, snap_ of the agitated man's fingers echoed in the small space, very loud and far too close to Jane's ear. "I'm just going snap my fingers and totally ruin this dude's life," Andrews finished, referring to the ease with which Medina had fired him.

Jane listened patiently, then asked, "Can I hold your hand?" He helpfully held out his own hand as a gesture of good faith.

The other man hesitated, then reluctantly placed his hand in his.

Jane examined the man's hand with his own. "Artistic fingers," he commented. He reached out and touched Andrews' face and neck. "Soft."

Andrews shook him off. "Don't do that."

No matter. Jane had gotten what he needed. "Nice to talk to you, Terry. Be well." He turned and addressed Rigsby. "You can let him go."

"Uh, that's not your call," Rigsby said.

"I didn't say you _must_ let him go," Jane said reasonably. "I said that you can. If you want…being that he's innocent."

The blinds on the interrogation room door rattled and shook as the door was flung open and Lisbon's voice sharply called his name.

Jane jumped. "Ooh, that was loud," he said. "That was very loud."

"With me. Now." Lisbon's tone brooked no argument.

Jane dutifully got up and made his way towards the sound of Lisbon's voice. She held the door for him. A heavenly scent wafted towards him as he brushed past her on his way out. He paused when he got into the hallway, thinking of his revelation of the evening before. He held out a hand. "Help me back to the bullpen?" he said, injecting just the right amount of pathetic into his voice. Now that he knew Lisbon was more generous about physical contact when she felt he needed assistance, he had every intention of exploiting that fact.

Lisbon sighed heavily but permitted him to place his hand on her shoulder so he could more easily find his way.

He didn't recognize the shirt she was wearing, some kind of cotton blend, long-sleeved, and judging by how the fabric fell against her shoulder, quite form-fitting. "New shirt?" he asked curiously.

"What?" Lisbon said, thrown. "No. I've had it for ages."

"Hm. I don't recognize it. What color is it?"

"Who cares?" She sounded defensive.

Well, now he really wanted to know. "Come on, Lisbon. You won't indulge the curiosity of a blind man?"

"Forget the shirt," she groused at him as he tapped his way along half a step behind her. "How many times do I need to tell you to stop interrupting interviews like that?" The silk of her hair brushed against his fingertips as she walked down the hall, her shoulder beneath his hand both strong and delicate. No offense to Officer Powell, but he had nothing on Lisbon as a personal guide.

Jane found her annoyance reassuring. She was irritated with him. That meant everything was normal. He would be able to contribute to the team, after all. She wasn't going to banish him or keep him on out of pity. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said insincerely, failing to conceal his pleased smile. He found his old friend the metal post and leaned against it. Things were really looking up. In fact—

"What are you doing?" Lisbon asked.

He removed his glasses and peeled away the tape sticking to his eyelids. "How will I know if I can see or not if I have bandages on?" He winced as he pulled off the second one. "Here goes."

"Well?" Lisbon said anxiously, her annoyance forgotten in her concern for him.

Jane's heart sank as he blinked. "Black as night," he confirmed.

He felt Lisbon sink down a little, dejected. "I'm sorry."

"Never mind." He put his glasses back on and returned to the business at hand. "Andrews didn't do it," he announced.

"Did you sense that with your superpowers?" Lisbon snarked, amusement evident in her tone.

"Yes, I did," Jane said, pleased that she was catching on. "He's filled with anger, but not fearful, guilty, murderous anger. That has a tang of ammonia about it. His is a more clean, righteous anger. Lemony."

"Lemony," Lisbon repeated, her voice thick with skepticism.

Jane grinned. "This blind thing really works. Without my vision, I can tune into my other senses much more clearly." For example, he was even more aware than usual of how absolutely amazing she smelled. A spicy, intoxicating blend he'd never quite parsed out to his satisfaction. Cardamom, that was the mystery element he'd never been able to nail down before. He'd suspected cinnamon for a while now, but now he was ninety-nine percent certain.

"That's great," Lisbon said, still amused. "Let me go make you a superhero costume. What do you want to be called?"

He liked hearing the smile in her voice. It occurred to him there was another opportunity to exploit here. He reached out and found her arm, then groped his way up her arm to rest his hand on her shoulder again.

Lisbon leaned away ever so slightly, suspicious, but didn't step back. "What are you doing?"

His fingers threaded through her hair again. "I want to know what your face feels like when you're smiling." He gently took her face in his hand and traced his thumb and forefinger over her cheeks. Surprised but apparently still amused enough to go along with it, she indulged him, letting her smile go big and wide beneath his fingertips.

Captivating. That's how her face felt when she was smiling. Smooth skin and that delightful dimple on one side. And he didn't need to see her to know that her green eyes were sparkling with mirth as she laughed at him.

"Uh…so what's the deal, boss?" Rigsby's voice interrupted the moment.

Jane suppressed a groan. Of course Rigsby would have to stumble in on their moment. What kind of wing man was he? Didn't he know it was an unforgiveable breach of guy code to interrupt a blind man when he was trying to feel up a woman's face? Defeated, he dropped his hand.

Lisbon, of course, remained brisk and professional. "Have forensics check him for any explosives residue. If he comes up clean, let him go."

"Will do," Rigsby said, and made his escape.

Back to business, yet again. "I'm still convinced there's a connection between Medina and me, so before you make me that superhero costume I'm looking forward to, can you take me to visit his widow?"

"Maybe," Lisbon said.

"Thank you." He inhaled deeply, hoping to get a few more minutes of flirting in before it was time to visit the widow. "And incidentally, you're smelling particularly good today. Is that cinnamon in the mix in there somewhere?"

No answer.

"Lisbon?" He reached out, searching for her, but she'd escaped. Apparently the limits of her indulgence did not extend to discussing her personal bath products.

If he'd guessed wrong, she wouldn't have run away, he reasoned. That confirmed it then. Definitely cinnamon.

xxx

Jane meandered over to Rigsby's desk. "Rigsby, question for you."

"Yeah?"

"What color shirt is Lisbon wearing today?"

"Red," Rigsby answered. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

"I'm wearing a white shirt, if you were wondering," Cho said dryly. Jane had the distinct impression he was being mocked.

"I wasn't," Jane said loftily. "You wear a white shirt every day. You really have a terribly unimaginative wardrobe, my friend."

"Is that why you want to know what the boss is wearing?" Cho asked, deadpan. "So you can assess the 'imaginativeness' of her wardrobe?"

Jane was saved from having to answer by Lisbon herself coming over to join them. "What are you guys talking about?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing," Cho said, turning his chair swiftly back to his computer. Jane could tell he'd buried himself in work because Cho's chair squeaked slightly when he turned and he could hear the turn of pages. Jane smirked to himself. Cho may have had no issue mocking Jane for his interest, but he wasn't about to let on to Lisbon that they'd been discussing her clothing selection. He valued his life more highly than that.

"You ready to go?" Lisbon asked Jane. He heard the faint jingle of keys in her palm.

"Ready," he confirmed, and they went to visit the widow of James Medina.

The trip to Medina's house brought him crashing back down to earth. The realization that his lying life as a con artist had most likely provoked the rage of not one but two murdering bastards was both disturbing and depressing. His temporary optimism about his 'superpowers' faded and he sank into an angry, impotent state of anxiety about the possibility of his blindness enduring beyond the few days the doctor had predicted and the certainty that someone was determined to kill him for something he'd done as a fake psychic. Frustrated at his inability to recall the exact details surrounding the watch linking him to Medina, he vented his feelings by torturing Rigsby about coffee cart man. He was so sick of watching Rigsby sidle up to the question sideways instead of making a bold move to win the woman he loved. Rigsby was free—no one was determined to kill everyone he cared about, so why was he so damn hung up on those ridiculous regulations? He and Van Pelt would be good for each other, if they would just stop tiptoeing around the thing and be honest with each other.

There was a reckoning to be paid with Grace afterward, however. He apologized—perhaps he had gone a tad over the line—but couldn't resist the urge to continue sticking his oar in. Grace ignored him, but eventually agreed to let him meet coffee cart man, possibly as a sop to get him to shut up.

Then to really round out the evening on a stellar note, he had to go and pass out in the bullpen.

When he woke, Lisbon was kneeling on the floor by his side, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, measuring his heart rate. Grace, just behind her, asked anxiously, "Is he going to be all right?"

"He's gonna be fine," Lisbon said calmly, but the tension in her touch betrayed her worry.

"I'm all right," Jane croaked from the floor. He attempted to sit up, but Lisbon's hand on his shoulder forced him to lie still.

"Don't move," she ordered. "The paramedics are on their way."

"Oh, Lisbon, really?" he whined. "I don't need paramedics. I just had a little dizzy spell, that's all."

"Hush," Lisbon said, but she relaxed slightly at this evidence that he was acting like just as much of a pain in the ass as usual. "Did you hit your head?" Her fingers moved through his hair, gently tracing the contours of his scalp, apparently in search of injury.

"I—I don't think so," he said, a little dazed. Jane knew perfectly well that he hadn't hit his head, but he wasn't about to say anything that hastened her removing her fingers from their current location. He knew he was blind, but he closed his eyes anyway, luxuriating in the feel of her fingers in his hair.

He heard the elevator ding, and Lisbon's hands fell from his hair. The paramedics had arrived. "Over here!" she called. "He's over here."

Jane sighed. Just his luck.

He tolerated the paramedics' attentions with an ill grace, reflecting sourly that he would have much preferred to receive more of Lisbon's attentions than theirs.

Lisbon tried to make him go back to the hospital, but there was no way he was going anyplace with such terrible tea. Even Rigsby's tea was better.

When he resisted, she appealed to Minelli, trying to get him to order Jane to go back to the hospital. Minelli took his side, however, claiming that they could protect him better at the CBI, 'at less expense.' He left with an aside to Lisbon, advising her that if Jane did die, she should move his body to a public area so he wouldn't be stuck with an undue quantity of paperwork.

Lisbon, frustrated and worried, tried to get Jane to rest, but he insisted on sitting in on the briefing he knew the team was supposed to have in a few minutes. He didn't want to miss anything.

What he ended up not missing was more reminders of what a complete waste of a human being he'd been back in his psychic days. Carol Gentry, dead by her own hand, most likely because of what he'd told her about her mother. Paul Krager and Jill Lamont's marriage destroyed as a result of his 'reading' on the watch Lamont had brought to him.

He was getting depressed again.

When the briefing was over, Lisbon took him back to his couch and made him lie down. "Are you sure you want to stay here tonight? I can take you home."

He didn't want Lisbon to see the place he stayed when he wasn't at the CBI. "This is fine," he said firmly. "I'll sleep better here." This much, at least, was true.

"All right," she said reluctantly.

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Are you going to tuck me in?"

Lisbon muttered something under her breath that he personally wouldn't repeat in polite company, but she draped his blue blanket over him nonetheless. Jane snuggled down into his couch, feeling much better.

He felt Lisbon's eyes on him, no doubt still full of worry. "Maybe I should stay, too. Make sure you're safe."

"Good idea," Jane said, yawning a little. "You can keep me supplied with fresh tea."

He felt her worry turn into a glare. "I'm serious. Somebody is after you. You need protection."

"Teresa, go home," he said sleepily. "This building is full of cameras and people with guns. I'm perfectly safe. Go home and get some rest. You can protect me tomorrow."

"Fine," she said grudgingly. "But if you die, I'm making Rigsby and Cho be the ones to move your body."

"Okay, so long as they don't wake me," Jane joked.

He didn't need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes. "Very funny. I'm going home now."

He heard her straighten up and called out to stop her. "Hey, Lisbon?"

She paused. "Yeah?"

He smiled into his couch cushion. "You look good in red."

He heard her jaw fall open. "How did you—?" She shook her head. "You know what? I don't want to know."

His smile widened. "Good night."

She squeezed his shoulder this time. "Sleep well, Jane."

Surprisingly, he did.

Xxx

He woke early the next morning. He managed to make his way down to the CBI locker rooms with his overnight bag and showered without incident. He even managed to shave by feel, though he did end up with one or two more cuts than usual.

Lisbon accosted him outside her office when he got back to the bullpen. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded. She sounded upset. He blinked into the darkness, taken aback. What had he done now?

"Around," he said, listening intently for clues as to what had set her off. Her breathing was accelerated, each breath ending in a little huff. She was stressed.

"Jane, someone is trying to kill you," she said, her voice tight. "You can't just wander off like you always do. It's too easy for someone to get the drop on you when you can't see them coming."

She'd been worried about him, he realized. His heart warmed at the thought. For now, though, he wanted to put her at ease. "Lisbon, would you relax?" He propped his cane up on a wall and took her hands in his. "I'm perfectly safe. I just wanted to clean myself up a bit, that's all. I didn't even leave the building."

She exhaled. "Oh," she said lamely. "Okay."

He grinned. "You were worried about me?"

"What? No," she said, yanking her hands away from him.

"Yes, you were," he said, still smiling.

"Fine, yes, I was worried, okay?" she said irritably. "You're in danger. I don't want you wandering off without one of us along to keep an eye on you."

"Very well." He could think of worse ways to pass the time than by sticking to Lisbon like glue. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"I'm going to head over to Lynch-Halstead and see if I can find out anything else about Krager."

"Good idea. I'll come, too," Jane said, picking up his stick again.

"You're not going," Lisbon said.

Jane's face fell. Days in the bullpen were so monotonous when Lisbon wasn't around to pester. "Why not? You were fine with me coming with you to talk to Medina's wife yesterday."

"That was before you passed out in the bullpen. The doctor said you needed to rest."

"I'm rested," Jane protested. "I rested all night."

"Rest some more," she said, unmoved.

"But you need my help," Jane said, disgruntled.

"Cho will go with me. I'm sure we'll manage," Lisbon said dryly.

Jane sighed. "Fine. I suppose I could go down to that tea shop on 18th and finally get a decent cup of tea while you're gone." His stomach growled. "And maybe a scone. I'm starved."

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't want you to leave the building."

"What about my tea?" he said pathetically.

"Have Rigsby make you a cup."

Jane groaned. "Are you trying to torture me, woman?"

"Cheer up," she said. "I brought you a blueberry muffin for breakfast."

Jane perked up. "Really?"

"It's waiting for you on your couch," she confirmed.

At least the morning wouldn't be a total loss.

Xxx

When Cho and Lisbon returned from Lynch-Halstead, they told him Medina had been the one to fire Paul Krager. Based on this information, it seemed certain that Krager was the link between him and Medina. At this point, it was mostly a matter of running the man down.

Jane hated it when cases ended in this sort of anti-climactic 'boots hitting the pavement' police work. It was such a let down. Still, he supposed it would be nice to be assured that the man that wanted to kill him was safely behind bars. And it wasn't like he could really let loose the full range of his creativity on the suspect while he was still unable to see. Jane settled himself on his couch and listened to the bustle of activity around him.

The team spent the afternoon compiling research on Krager. Once they'd gathered the facts they needed, Lisbon informed them that she and Cho were going to go out and follow some leads.

She addressed Jane, still lying on the couch. "You, stay right there." To Grace and Rigsby, she said in her 'I'm the boss and if you defy me you will regret it' voice, "Nobody take him anywhere. No excitement whatsoever. Clear?"

"Clear, boss," Van Pelt and Rigsby answered in chorus.

Jane suppressed a sigh. There went his evening. No way he was going to be able to escape to get his tea now.

Xxx

A soft voice was calling his name.

Jane started awake, disoriented.

Van Pelt's voice was apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't know if I should wake you."

Jane shook the cobwebs from his head. "I'm awake."

"You said you wanted to meet the man I've been dating."

Jane sat up. "Yes, I did. Is he coming?"

A smile in Van Pelt's voice. "He's here."

"Here?" Jane felt a prickle of foreboding. If there was a third person in the room with them, why wasn't that person making any noise? "Here now?" Not even a rustle of clothing. It wasn't natural.

"Yes."

"Right here." A man's voice. One too eager to meet a total stranger. "Dan Hollenbeck, sir."

Jane reached out, offering his hand to the stranger. The man's grip was too hard. His hands too rough for a lawyer. And he smelled all wrong. "It's a real pleasure to meet you." His pulse was elevated—he was excited, anticipating something positive, but full of nervous tension at the same time. A chemical scent reached his nose. One that Jane had smelled before. Namely, outside a van, just before being blown up. "Grace has told me so much about you." The nervousness wasn't due to pre-date nerves. These were more 'my-grand-murderous-plot-is-about-to-come-to-fruition' nerves. Jane didn't know who this man was or why the man had decided to kill him, but he knew with absolute certainty that this was the bomber.

"Good to meet you, too, Dan," Jane said, his mind whirring. He needed to stall for time.

"I hope you don't mind my asking," Hollenbeck said. "But are you-?"

"Blind? Yes," Jane confirmed. Knowing of his handicap would make Hollenbeck relax, lower his guard. Jane could exploit that to prevent anybody else from being killed, he hoped. "As a bat."

"Temporarily," Van Pelt said, a smile still in her voice. "Think positive."

Poor, sweet Van Pelt. Why had Hollenbeck dragged her into this mess? He couldn't possibly have a vendetta against her, too. "Yes, positive," Jane echoed. "That's right." Well, there was one positive he could think of. Rigsby was still on duty, and if he saw Van Pelt threatened by this twerp in an Italian suit, he would rip the man in two. He kept his tone casual. "So, Van Pelt. Where is Rigsby, exactly?"

"I don't know. Probably out getting pizza, if I know Rigsby," Van Pelt said. "Do you need him for something?"

Jane's mind worked rapidly. "Lisbon? Cho?" The need for backup in this delicate situation pressed in on him with urgency.

"Still chasing down Paul Krager. There's nobody here but us."

Jane's heart sank. "Of course." He changed tacks. He needed to go on the attack. "So, Dan. Quite the hard grip you have there. Working man's hands. And a faint scent of chemicals, but an expensive Italian suit. That's interesting."

"Dan's a lawyer," Van Pelt informed him.

"A very junior lawyer," Hollenbeck put in, oozing false modesty. "I lobby the state senate."

"But you're good with your hands," Jane pressed. "You're good at building things. As a hobby, maybe."

"I guess."

"What sort of things do you build, as a hobby?"

"You know. Stuff." Hollenbeck evaded the question, a smirk in his voice. He was enjoying this. He betrayed no sign of anxiety that they might be interrupted. He must have incapacitated Rigsby somehow.

Jane probed delicately, still stalling for time. If he could get to the next room, he could call for help before Hollenbeck decided to wring Van Pelt's lovely neck for whatever it was that Jane had done to him. "Well, I'm hungry," he announced, getting to his feet and reaching for his cane. "I guess I'll get myself something to eat."

"Don't be silly," Van Pelt said. "I'll get you something."

Jane cursed her kind nature. "No, that's okay," he insisted. "I can manage."

Before he could take another step, Hollenbeck was there, his breath hot on his neck. "You think I'm dumb?" he said in a vicious whisper. "Make the wrong move and I'll shoot her in the head."

"I hear you," Jane said.

"What are you guys whispering about?" Van Pelt asked from the other side of the room.

"Nothing," Jane said. He paused. "Some chips would be nice."

"What kind?"

The kind that would get her safely out of Hollenbeck's reach. Jane shrugged. "I'm easy."

Van Pelt's phone rang. It was Lisbon. Jane couldn't hear the conversation, but at the end of it, he surmised that Van Pelt had learned Hollenbeck's identity—he must be related to Paul Krager, Jane realized—and Hollenbeck had Van Pelt at gun point.

"I'm sorry I had to lie to you, Grace. Truly. But I needed you."

Van Pelt's voice was level and full of venom. "Why?"

The answer clicked into place in Jane's mind. "To access the state house lot. He used your security pass."

"You son of a bitch," Van Pelt seethed, and Jane felt cheered. A pissed off Van Pelt was a worthy ally. Okay, yes, Hollenbeck had a gun on them and Jane couldn't see, but it was still two against one.

Jane advised Van Pelt to stay cool, to do as the man with the gun said. Far better if he kept Hollenbeck's ire focused on him and him alone.

It worked. Hollenbeck ranted for a few minutes about how Jane had ruined his life, while Jane desperately tried to think of a way to get them out of this.

Hollenbeck ordered Van Pelt to cuff herself and Jane to drop the cane. The gun dug into Jane's back. He put his hand on Van Pelt's shoulder as directed and allowed himself to be frog marched out of the bullpen. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Someplace quiet and private," Hollenbeck answered, his voice full of malice. "You won't like it."

They went down the elevator and crossed the deserted lobby. Jane bumped into the door as he passed through it.

He heard a noise. A footstep and a clinking chain. "Tommy?" he said, hope surging. "You're still here."

"Hey, Mr. Jane," Tommy's cheerful voice greeted him. "Just locking up. You folks need anything?"

"Ah—" Jane gambled everything on one move. He brought his elbow back as hard as he could into Hollenbeck's gut. "Run, Grace!"

He held onto Van Pelt's shoulder as she sprinted away as best she could with the cuffs behind her back. The sound of gunshots echoed behind them. Jane hoped Tommy was okay, and better yet, that he'd put a bullet in the bastard, but there was no way to tell for now. They had to keep running.

A grunt of pain, and the sound of a body slumping to the ground. Then silence. Footsteps followed the silence, and that was how Jane knew Tommy had been hit. If he'd been the victor, he would have called out to them. He and Grace were on their own.

He and Van Pelt ducked behind a car, and he persuaded her to give him her keys.

"But I can't drive," Van Pelt protested.

"We'll manage," Jane said firmly.

They made their way to Van Pelt's car. Jane wondered if this was the worse plan he'd ever come up with. But they had no choice—this was the only way his panic-addled brain could think of that ended with them surviving the night.

It turned out that driving while blind wasn't as easy as Jane had anticipated. He'd thought he'd be able to read the cues from Van Pelt's voice as a supplement to her directions, but there was a lag somewhere along the line that resulted in him bumping into what felt like half the vehicles in the parking lot. Plus, the gunshots being fired in their direction were fairly distracting. If only she hadn't been cuffed behind the back, he thought with frustration. He was sure he could have managed fine if she could have put her hand on his shoulder so he could read the tension in her reactions and maneuver accordingly. Of course, this was a moot point, since if she hadn't been cuffed, she probably wouldn't have agreed to get in the car with a blind chauffeur in the first place.

This was the last thought he had before he crashed the car into another vehicle with a sickening crunch. He hurried to put the car in reverse, acutely conscious of the gunfire growing nearer with each passing second.

Another shot, and the window shattered. Jane put the car in reverse and slammed his foot on the gas. They shot backwards, crashing into another car behind them. The Jeep sputtered and died. Jane desperately turned the key in the ignition again and again, flooding the engine. It wouldn't start.

"Jane!" Van Pelt screamed. Hollenbeck had caught up with them at last. Jane's heart beat a frantic rhythm against the inside of his ribcage. He prayed to a God he didn't believe in. Please, he begged the universe. Let Hollenbeck shoot him let Grace go.

A shot rang out, but Jane didn't die. That was strange. His heart lurched. Surely Van Pelt hadn't—

"Oh," Grace breathed. "Oh, thank God."

Jane clutched the steering wheel. "What happened?" he said, his voice on edge. "Did something good happen?"

Then the sound of Lisbon's beautiful, wonderful annoyed voice reached his ears. "Didn't I say no excitement of any kind?" she demanded.

Jane slumped against the steering wheel in relief.

Lisbon uncuffed Van Pelt, and Van Pelt rushed off to check on Rigsby. Cho had arrived on the scene by then and was dealing with calling the paramedics for Tommy and Hollenbeck.

Lisbon came around to the driver's side and helped Jane out of the car. Jane, shaky with relief, reached out and gathered her to him in an adrenaline-fueled embrace. "You're here," he said, dazed. He clutched her to him.

Lisbon patted him on the back. To his surprise, she hugged him back. But then, he remembered, she would, if she thought he needed it. Which he did.

"Van Pelt sounded weird on the phone," she explained. "And Krager had a picture of his son on the wall. I recognized him—I saw him getting coffee with Van Pelt on my way in the other day."

She was breathing heavily. He held her closer. "Did you run here?"

"I heard the shots as soon as I got to the parking lot. And seriously, Jane? Driving a car blind? That was your brilliant escape plan?"

He huffed a laugh into her neck and let her go. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"You destroyed half the cars in the parking lot and nearly got Van Pelt and yourself killed."

"Meh," Jane said. "Bought us time until the cavalry arrived, didn't it?"

She took his hand in hers. "Come on," she said, guiding him away from the car. "Paramedics are on their way. Let's get you checked out."

Xxx

It took some doing, but he managed to persuade the paramedics and more importantly, Lisbon, that he didn't need to go back to the hospital.

Even after he managed this feat, Lisbon still hovered, watching over him anxiously. Realizing that she had no intention of leaving him alone anytime soon, he set about convincing her to order Thai food for dinner and share it with him on his couch. He was starving, and he'd be willing to bet she hadn't eaten either.

She agreed, and before long, they were happily ensconced on his couch, fighting over the spring rolls and tucking away pad see ew and green curry. Having determined to her satisfaction that Rigsby was fine and Jane hadn't hit his head again, Lisbon relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the meal, teasing him some more about his ill-fated joy ride around the parking lot.

Though Jane took exception to the term 'joy ride' in this particular context, he let her have her fun. He was too happy to have her there beside him to mind a little teasing. Being in the dark wasn't so bad as long as you had pleasant company and nobody was trying to kill you.

He turned towards her, the bandages still over his eyes. He wished he could see her face. Some of his anxiety about the blindness returned. "What color shirt are you wearing, Lisbon?" he asked abruptly.

It shouldn't be possible to hear someone roll their eyes, but he would have sworn that he did. "Again with the shirt," she huffed. "What the hell does it matter?"

He made a discontented hm-ing noise. Lisbon was the most attractive element of his daily scenery. The thought of being robbed of the sight of her beautiful green eyes, of her crooked, mischievous smile filled him with resentment. God dammed Hollenbeck. What if he never saw her smile again?

He'd have to maintain his memory palace meticulously, so he wouldn't forget what her eyes looked like when they were worried for him, or how they flashed when she was angry at him. If he never saw again, he'd embroider copies of those images with his imagination every time she fretted or yelled at him, so that he'd have new memories to add to his collection. He shrugged, feigning indifference. "Just trying to visualize my surroundings, that's all."

There was a silence. Lisbon, no doubt, was biting back a retort reminding him that they were alone in the bullpen, on his couch, a place he was so intimately familiar with he could no doubt recite every damn detail of his surroundings with his eyes closed. "Green," she said finally.

He smiled a little wistfully. "You look good in green." He filed away the image of her brilliant eyes set off by a fabric of the same color for future reference.

He felt her skin warm up next to him again. "Hush," she said, jostling him in the ribs with her elbow.

He rubbed his side theatrically. "Learn to take a compliment, woman."

She started to gather up the remnants of their take-out containers. "I'd better get going."

Damn. Note to self, he thought. Compliments were guaranteed to make Lisbon run from the room. He'd have to be much more devious about slipping them into conversation in the future.

He heard her dump the containers in the garbage, then return to stand in front of him. "You gonna be all right here tonight?"

"Yes, Lisbon," he said, resisting the impulse to ask her to stay.

"The vision thing is temporary, Jane," she said softly. "By this time tomorrow, you're going to be annoying me with a running commentary about every little thing you see. I know it."

"I hope you're right about that," he said. "Though if you are, you'll probably complain about it."

"This once, I'll suffer in silence," she promised. "Take care, okay?"

They bade each other good night, and she left.

xxx

The warmth of the sun on his couch woke Jane the next morning. He sat up, nervous anxiety flooding his system. The doctor had said forty-eight to seventy-two hours. They were just about coming up on that now, as near as he could tell. If she was right, his sight should have returned by now. He pressed his palms onto the knees of his trousers, gathering his courage. He heard soft footsteps in the distance, but he ignored them.

He tossed the sunglasses to the side and reached for the first bandage. He peeled it off slowly. He kept his eye squeezed tightly shut and peeled off the second one. He exhaled slowly and blinked.

Light. He could see light. Also muted colors and a fuzzy shape, moving towards him. A familiar fuzzy shape about five foot two, with dark hair and pale skin.

He blinked, and the image cleared. Lisbon. Her eyes worried, her mouth softly parted. In that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. A smile broke out over his face. His favorite object of study would not be denied to him after all. He wouldn't have to imagine. He'd get to examine every flicker of emotion that passed through those expressive green eyes, to bask in the glow of every glorious smile she bestowed upon him. His face broke into a smile.

She walked closer to him, smiling in response. Her happiness for him was evident. His heart thumped a little at the sight.

His smile widened. "You have no notion of how good it is to see your face…Rigsby."

Her face fell. "Rigsby?" she said uncertainly.

Oh, he'd missed the expression she got when she was trying to decide if he was messing with her. He crowed his laughter, pointing at her in a 'gotcha' gesture. She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, reaching out and gently punching him on the shoulder. "Funny."

He grinned.

"Does this mean you've lost your superpowers?" she teased.

"Too early to tell," he said, unruffled. "But I'm optimistic that some vestiges will remain."

"Well?" she said expectantly. "What's the first thing you're going to do to celebrate having your sight back?"

"Excellent question." He sighed in pleasure. "I think later this morning, I'll go for a nice long walk and admire all the spring flowers. But first, I'm going to have a cup of tea. I haven't had a decent one in days." He paused. "Care to join me?"

"All right," she said, clearly indulging him. Lisbon didn't normally care for tea, but apparently she was willing to go along with the idea for his sake, at least for the moment. Jane intended to take ruthless advantage of the grace period.

He jumped up and took her by the arms, sitting her down on his couch. "Stay right there," he said, enormously cheerful. "I'll be right back."

He made the tea, stealing glances at Lisbon, sitting with uncharacteristic patience on his couch, checking her email on her phone while she waited for him.

She was wearing a brown shirt. He wondered if she'd selected it in hopes of thwarting his curiosity about her wardrobe choices with a less than vivid color. Ha. Little did she know she happened to be wearing his favorite kind of shirt…any one that allowed him to steal a peek at her cleavage.

He admired the view as he crossed the room and bent down to deliver her tea.

She put her phone away and accepted the tea. Jane sat down next to her. He took a sip of tea.

He sighed in contentment. Finally.

Next to him, Lisbon took a sip of hers and made a face.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her intoxicating cinnamon scent. A moment later, in the spirit of experimentation, he brushed his thumb against her wrist. He was rewarded by her skin heating against his yet again. He smiled to himself, his eyes still closed.

It seemed his superpowers were here to stay.


End file.
